


Now That They're Gone, and We're Here Now

by jaceyboiii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes's thighs, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Bliss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, In which Bucky learns how to move on, In which I wasn't satisfied with Bucky's ending in Endgame and wrote a better one myself, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Pegging, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Thor helps, mentions of disordered eating, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-03-01 01:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaceyboiii/pseuds/jaceyboiii
Summary: Bucky Barnes is no stranger to being left behind, but in the wake of his best friend moving on and the Winter Soldier purged from his mind once and for all, there's a whole world out there and it's his turn to take the plunge.He finds comforts in some unlikely places and perhaps finds his solace in one of the most unlikely people of all.





	1. Closure and New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for spoilers from Avengers: Endgame, mentions of character deaths and events from the movie, but all else is my mushy headcanon bullshit  
> Trigger warnings are in the tags, but some likely topics to come up are mentions of torture, alcoholism, disordered eating and thoughts of self harm/death. There's heavy featuring of symptoms of panic disorders and PTSD, so when I post each chapter I'll try put a little content warning for anything that might be sensitive to readers - let me know in the comments if anything else would be helpful!  
> Otherwise, enjoy ✌

Steve had done what many only hoped to achieve in their wildest dreams. What countless lives had been lost in the name of and countless more would likely jeopardize themselves in pursuit of. The ultimate goal and true American Dream, if you believe in that sort of thing.

Steve Rogers had gotten a life.

A gorgeous wife, a couple of healthy kids, a family home complete with white picket fences, a long-lived marriage - you name it. What more could a guy want?

Bucky could see the appeal. Really, he could. If somebody offered to wave a magic wand and trade the chaotic on-the-run life he lived with a settled and normal one, he'd have taken them up with no questions asked. But he himself wasn't normal. Not after Hydra had molested every inch of his brain, not with all of the blood on his hands from the decades of murdering- no, downright _slaughtering_ they made him do. On a more basic level even, he was a man out of time, just like Steve was. But Captain Rogers had been given a second chance. He was able to go back to where he belonged and what he knew, to live through all of the social change and technological evolution up until the modern day and adapt accordingly.

Bucky didn't get that privilege. Living not only in a time that wasn't his, but in a self that he didn't entirely know, a body he couldn't fully trust. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was long gone, recently joined by the Winter Soldier - for good if Wakandan tech was truly as advanced as his good friend and literal child prodigy Shuri assured it was. Somebody was left in the middle of this identity crisis, sitting in the vessel that others had come to recognise as _Bucky_ , but still feeling nameless in the rough.

The brunet’s shoulders deflated a little as he lowered his eyes, abandoning the lake glistening under the evening sky in favour of staring hard into his lap. From where he was sitting cross-legged at the water’s edge, he pulled at a few blades of grass in the space of lawn between his thighs with his human arm. The greenery felt lush, glossy and alive, and he came to envy it. He knew that Steve wasn't dead, that he'd still be there should Bucky come to need him. And yet, his heart couldn't quite get the memo not to grieve. Back when they were teenagers, they had a whole life planned out with one another, for one another. They were going to be neighbours and coworkers and best friends forever, getting married in the same church and raising their respective kids to be inseparable in tow, sending them off to college and crying about it together and reminiscing about the mischief they got up to in their youth to their eventual grandchildren, having the other always there to fill in the blanks or laugh encouragingly.

It was a dream they both held dear once but, alas, it was just a dream. A childish one that Bucky always knew wasn't going to work out as seamlessly as two giddy seventeen year olds assumed it would, but ached to accept was, at that stage, a fully fledged fantasy rather than just a wholesome aspiration.

He tensed as the grass behind him was disrupted, but soon settled as he recognised who the showy footsteps belonged to. A intrinsic perceptiveness inherited from his many years as a wanted assassin, he groused inwardly. He looked out onto the horizon once more as Sam stood beside him, accompanied by a dull _thunk_ of his newly gifted shield meeting the ground as he settled to take in the scenery in a much more purposeful way than Bucky could admit to.

“Sure is beautiful out here, don't you think?” the man hummed, nodding intently as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Mhmm,” Bucky affirmed stiffly, emptying his palm of severed grass and sitting up straight. He could tell his friend was now looking down at him, obviously expecting a return gaze Bucky wasn’t about to give him. There was a pregnant pause before a sigh left the Falcon and he scuffed at an uneven patch in the lawn with his foot, swaying on the spot absently.

“The ceremony inside was real nice,” Sam continued, a tone of reverence to his voice as he gestured to the house some twenty yards away. “Pepper stood up to speak, got through it like a champ. Not even Hogan could keep the waterworks off, you could tell her and Tony had something special. A few more words got said, everybody stuck around for the food but most filtered out after that. Places to go, people to see, I guess.”

Bucky could suddenly feel the weight of his eyes in against their sockets. He always hated funerals - even with his brain fried, that stuck with him. During the war, so many friends were left without proper burials, or with their bodies so mangled or straight up missing that they didn't get the dignity of any burial at all. Their faceless ghosts haunted him even then, echoes of comrade’s voices so familiar and close, yet he just… couldn’t remember. The whole prospect of mourning among Tony’s friends and family, pictures and reminders of him everywhere; Bucky couldn’t do it. The send-off of the man’s ashes was palatable, all very reflective and quiet. It admittedly gave a sense of closure, but the Winter Soldier still hung further back. Shuri had insisted that nobody would be offended if he didn’t feel comfortable sitting in on the service to follow, and so despite feeling guilty as hell for it, Bucky politely excused himself and waited outside until it was over.

“Listen, I got to thinking while I was in there,” Sam piped up, having noticed the glossed over look in his friend’s eyes and rested a hand on his shoulder to echo an _Earth to Barnes_. “Have you not wanted to come back at all?”

“What do you mean?” the brunette frowned into his first real words in over two hours, meeting Falcon’s eye from the corner of his own.

“Well… you were in Wakanda for quite a while there. I’m sure it was a hell of a spa weekend, it did you good. But man, have you never thought about getting back to normal life? And don’t try tell me you _found your new normal_ , you weren’t raised a goat farmer and I don’t see you dying as one.”

Bucky admittedly snorted at that, shaking his head down into his lap. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that whatever image Sam had of what he was up to during his recovery was highly exaggerated, but elected to entertain him anyway. “What do you suggest I do then? My old place is probably long gone. Don’t think the banks would take too kindly to giving a mortgage to a guy with no financial records for the last seventy years and no job, even in this modern age.”

“Uhh, come stay with me?” the taller man stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, earning a full disgruntled turn his way.

“... Did lugging that shield around make you lightheaded or something?” Bucky questioned, expression contorted as if his friend had suddenly grown an extra pair of heads. “It almost sounded like you were suggesting we share a living space, will I call Banner to come check you out?”

“Don’t get it twisted, Barnes. I might not like your greasy ass, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna abandon you when you very clearly need saving,” Sam sniped, hands anchored to his hips and eyebrows drawn. All very serious despite the third-grader level of insults behind his words. His expression softened then as he concluded, “It’d be just until you get back on your feet. I'd rather put up with the Winter Grump than have you holed up in a 10 square foot shoebox somewhere on your own.”

“That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me... and you still found room to make fun of me,” Bucky sighed, the corners of his lips touching upwards ever so slightly. As much as he hated to be a nuisance and personally felt he'd caused enough trouble for both Sam and Steve already, the guy was right. Whether he was free of brainwashing or not, being alone while figuring out life in this _new_ New York probably wasn't the best situation to leave Bucky in, just in case. Zemo had come for the Winter Soldier before - if word got out that his host walked the streets once more, others would be sure to try again and Bucky dealing with that by himself was just asking for trouble.

“You know me,” the Falcon admitted with an amused shrug. “So, how’s about we give you a couple days to get your stuff together, send it over and we'll get you set up?”

“ _My stuff_ is exclusive to the clothes on my back, to be perfectly honest.”

“... That is about the saddest damn thing I've ever heard.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Suppose that shaves some time off,” Sam muttered as he picked the cased shield back up off the ground, shouldering it with a grunt. Extending his free hand, he gave the brunet that same expectant look. “Come back with me now then. I'll set up the guest room then we can order in. You like Chinese?”

Bucky stared at the man’s arm for a long and pensive moment, his stomach and chest feeling oddly unsettled. His head told him to refuse, to catch up with Shuri and T’Challa and hitch a ride with them back to Wakanda where he wouldn't be a danger to society and had a system of people who knew him and could quite capably quell him should an outburst occur. And yet… he found himself clasping his friend’s arm to haul himself to his feet, a decisive look on his face as he let go.

This was a step in the right direction regardless of how terrifying it seemed, and it was going to be good for Bucky - he would make sure of that. Besides, it was always Steve who would spout on about moving on and taking that leap of faith. It was almost fitting that as the retired Captain left his life in some ways, it would be his words to give him a running start.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now, get in the car and yell ‘fool’, Furiosa - I don't wanna get caught in the rush hour traffic.”

“What?”

“... Nevermind.”


	2. Getting into the Swing of Things

“... Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

Looking up from the eggs he was cooking at the stove, Sam cocked an eyebrow in the direction of the kitchen table where his roomie of four months had been sitting. Bucky, hunched over the back pages of a newspaper, gnawed pensively at the end of a pen to further echo the hesitance in his question. 

Moving his pan off the heat with a sigh, the Falcon wrung his hands in a kitchen towel then sauntered towards his friend.

“We talked about this, Buck,” he affirmed, letting the cloth sop over the back of a free chair. “Being holed up in here doing nothing all day is gonna make you crack eventually.”

“Since when is being your housewife doing nothing all day?” the brunet sniped, brow creased defensively in a way Sam could only roll his eyes at.

“You know what I mean, man. It's cool having the floors swept and my shirts smelling like a chemical nightmare every morning,” these words were met with a warning grunt, but Sam persisted anyway. “But you've stepped outside a total of twice since you got here. And one of those times ended in an insurance claim.”

“They came running at me, what was I supposed to do?”

“A grocery run doesn't end in dumb kids with fake knives getting broken arms, Barnes.”

Bucky grimaced and sat back in his chair wearily. “I don't see how that makes getting a job sound any more reasonable.”

“Simple,” the Falcon chimed, clapping a hand to his friend's shoulder on his way back to prepping their breakfast. “Find you a job with no toy weapon wielding children.”

“You're so full of shit,” the brunet threw his head back, chuckling incredulously at the shrug he was met with. Carding his hands through his hair to get it out of his face, Bucky chanced another look down at the job listings. Ads looking for sales assistants and waiters galore lined every second column or so, not particularly piquing his interest in lieu of being out in the open in public and therefore having to interact directly with a lot of people.

He was getting better at getting his anxiety and touch sensitivity under control, that wasn't the problem. Hell, he didn't flinch anymore when Sam raised a hand around him and actually found it quite comforting when the guy would bump off his right arm or give him the occasional shove. However, should an attack occur, he had no way of knowing if it’d get out of hand or not and he couldn't bare the idea of hurting anybody that didn't deserve it, not anymore. At home, he was safe - on his own with ice showers and loud TV programs to put on, and Sam on the other end of the line if he really needed it. Out there, he didn't have that. And by God, his pride might just shrivel up and die if he so much as thought of asking for it.

"What do you think the chances of social interaction would be as…a dishwasher at a late night diner?" Bucky asked as the Falcon returned to set two plates of bacon, eggs, toast and assorted fruit on the table.

"Hmm… minimal at best?" Sam shrugged, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the carton and glasses already set out.

"It'll have to do," the brunet hummed, drawing a circle around said ad before setting his little pile of research aside to tuck in. "All I needa do now is figure out how to translate _cryogenically frozen on and off for seventy years to do the bidding of blood thirsty Nazis_ into applicable skills for my resume and we'll be laughing."

This offhand remark lead to orange juice flying everywhere as Sam snorted into his glass and Bucky would be lying to say it wasn't satisfying seeing the man doused in the fruity liquid at his doing. Snatching the kitchen towel before his friend could grab it to clean up, a small scale war was started across the breakfast table.

* * *

The next week was spent typing up CVs and learning how to set up an email account to send out said CVs - a rather big leap from typewriters and handing physical envelopes in to stores, but manageable once Bucky got the hang of it. Himself and Sam had mutually agreed putting down _veteran_ , despite having the face of a 30 year old just a little on the tired side, would be easier to explain than his actual situation.

Most of the responses were polite refusals, but on a few occasions he was asked to go for interviews or trial days for the likes of the dishwasher job and Sam was congratulatory in the way a dad would be when his son came home with a macaroni drawing. Degrading to be perfectly honest, but Bucky could read the well-meaning undertones and so let it be.

Being a dishwasher worked out for about a month. The money wasn't great, but the late hours suited since Bucky didn't get much sleep those days anyway. It was usually pretty quiet in the wee hours of the morning, but it got to the point of being so quiet that they needed to let one of two employed dishwashers go. Their other guy had been with them longer so, as a matter of loyalty, he got to stay. Bucky was disappointed obviously, but he didn't dwell or hold any bad feelings - in fact, he started to make little ventures out to that same diner every other night or so when sleep was being particularly stubborn.

They did damn good coffee.

Life went on and he wasn't ready to give up yet. That and Sam wasn't about to let him, now that Bucky insisted on paying rent and the money wasn't going to appear out of thin air. He tried more similar places, even a few of those shopfront positions he had been so hesitant about. The owners had all been very kind and friendly, but he could tell all the polite _We need a few days to consider, we'll call you soon!_ 's roughly translated to _You look fucking terrifying and we're not looking for that, we won't be calling back_. It had hurt, given that his confidence took quite a bit of effort to build up to put himself out there in the first place. But it was good practise, according to Sam. Who suddenly seemed like an expert on all this.

Just as Bucky was about to give in and resign himself to his housemate's sofa to hibernate and attempt growing out a depression beard for the next six months, there was a rattle at the door. Barnes frowned, checking the kitchen clock to read it wasn't much later than noon - Sam couldn't have been back from his real big boy work so soon. Rising begrudgingly from his comfy spot, he made his way to the door, opening it and peering out. As one usually might, he had been expecting the guest to be at a mutual eye level, and so his eyebrows flew up as he had to take his line of sight down a few flights.

"Oh, pardon me!" a squat elderly lady peeped, wringing her aged hands in front of her chest. Her voice held a warm southern note to it, making her seem about as dangerous as a baby blue cardiganed cupcake when paired with the large bottle end glasses perched on her nose. "I thought that sweet boy Sam lived here."

"Oh, uhm…" Bucky stuttered intelligently, back stiff and upright. "He does, I'm a friend."

"How lovely," she beamed, hands clasped together in an enthusiasm the brunet really couldn't wrap his head around the source of. "Is he in?"

"No, he's away at work," Bucky informed apologetically, arms awkward at his sides. "Did you need something? I can call him-"

"No no, there's no need for that!" she assured quickly, smiling warmer at the surprised look on the face of the man that practically dwarfed her in the doorway. "I came to ask a favour is all, it's not urgent. Don't fret that handsome head of yours!"

"Ahh," he nodded, somewhat flustered by the final remark but naturally wanting to just duck back inside and hide rather than address it. That would be rude though, so he endured. 'Do you want me to pass anything on when he gets home, or…?"

"If you could just tell him that cruise I was telling him about is coming up next week, that'd be mighty good."

"Cruise?"

"Mhmm! I know I don't look it, but the big eight-zero is coming up and my gentleman friend is whisking me away."

"That sounds nice," Bucky couldn't help the small tug upwards at either corner of his lips at the child-like excitement lighting up the lady's face. "Did Sam help out?"

"Now, that's the thing. He said he'd be happy to oblige, but wasn't sure about his schedule."

"Okay…"

"Oh, golly, you mustn't have a clue what I'm blabbering about!" she fussed over herself for a moment, backtracking mentally before placing a tiny wrinkled hand on Bucky's forearm, not seeming to notice him stiffen up. "We're neighbours, and I've got my darling Sasha back home. We can't bring him with us, so I was looking for a body to house-sit a week or two, keep him company and all that. Sam was so kind as to offer, you see."

"Mmh," Bucky nodded once more slowly in understanding, wracking his brain for if Sam had mentioned it at all. He couldn't recall, and to be fair the guy had probably forgotten. "He has hours lined up for the next two weeks, if I remember right."

"Shucks, I was worried as much," the lady drawled, her bottom lip puckering in a small pout. "I'll have to call up a grandchild or two… oh but it's exam season. That's the darnedest thing!"

"Sorry that's not much help…" he shuffled uncomfortably, unable to meet her eyes in her distressed state and trying not to focus on the grip she now had on the cuff of his sleeve. "How, uhh… how old is Sasha?"

"Oh, he's… he's about twelve now, I'd say."

"I'm sure he's old enough to muscle through a couple days alone."

"... Sasha is my German Shepherd, dear."

"Oh! Oh, shit- I mean, my apologies. Didn't… I didn't think."

"Not to worry, you're all right," the lady gave a small giggle, amused by the embarrassment creeping up the man's features but still very preoccupied by her predicament. "I'd send him to a kennel, but I'm afraid it'd be too short notice - they do get very full here..."

Watching her continue to fuss and ramble about how she was going to get herself out of this mess, Bucky couldn't help but feel sorry for her. More comfortable now that she had let go of him, he thought long and hard for a moment. Now, he wasn't by any means stingy with his time in terms of helping others - he had spent much of his twenties in the military, for god's sake - but naturally the charitable part of him hadn't been needed to get exercised in quite a while, so it was a bit shy. _No time like the present to try_ , he guessed.

"I mean… I'm out of work at the moment. If you're really stuck, I don't mind filling in."

"Really?" she piped up, all big-eyed and awed right then. "I wouldn't want to be a burden since we're strangers and all…"

"If anything, that should be my line," he joked awkwardly, giving a halfhearted shrug. "Since I'd… be in your home…"

"Oh, don't be silly!" the lady dismissed, cutting across him. "You're one of Sam's, that boy chooses well."

Before Bucky could get a snark in edgeways at the absent Falcon's expense, the lady had started to ramble once more. She listed off all of the things one would need for looking after her dog, from walking him to bathing him to making sure he took his doggy medicine before bed every night, then informed him that she would drop her spare key in later that evening to tell Sam all about it. And with that and little else said from his end, it seemed Bucky had plans for the fortnight to come.

As the lady took her leave, she promised over her shoulder that she would repay him handsomely, which of course he politely assured wasn't necessary, but she less politely insisted anyway.

With a faint smile and an admitted excitement blossoming in his chest, Bucky went back inside and made a note on the household calendar.


	3. Dog Days are Over

"Ahh, you're early, my dear!"

Trekking up the driveway, Bucky pursed his lips and nodded politely to the squat lady from before, whose name he had learned was Mrs Davis. She greeted him in the doorway by briefly cupping either of his cheeks in her hands. No small feat given the many inches he had on her, so he made an effort not to flinch at the gesture - he knew she meant no harm, and at least she wasn't pinching.

Mrs Davis fussed him inside, shutting the door after him to then lead the way to the kitchen. He unslung the duffel bag he had brought with him from around his shoulders to set it down by the table, noting a quiet sniffing as soon as he did so coming from some unknown source.

"Where is he?" Bucky wondered aloud, glancing around the lemon yellow painted room for his soon-to-be companion.

"Hmm?" Mrs Davis startled, looking up from the tea she had started to make at the counter before her face softened. "Now now, Sasha! Hiding under the table again, honey?"

On cue, a great head poked nervously out from behind the lace tablecloth hanging over the edge. Thick tufts of beige and sandy brown fur framed big puppy eyes and a sharp black snout as Sasha stared up at this new stranger in his house.

"Hiya, boy," Bucky greeted softly, offering a hand out for the dog to sniff. Sasha's ears flattened to his skull the moment the man encroached on his space and he lurched over to his owner, curling around her feet and staring through her legs at Bucky warily.

"He's a bit shy around new people," Mrs Davis sighed, throwing the tea bags away before stepping out of the pup's encirclement. He was following at her heels all the way over to the table as she set down a cup for herself and one for their guest. "He's a rescue, they think his last owner abused him."

"That's alright," Bucky assured with a knowing crease of his brow, sitting down in the chair facing Mrs Davis. "I get that."

* * *

Sasha continued to eye him cautiously as the two humans sipped their tea and chatted. Mrs Davis had a lot of questions about what Bucky was doing living with Sam and how the two had met, which Bucky couldn't bring himself to mind given he'd have the run of this friendly lady's house for the week. He gave a heavily sanitised version of their introduction story for obvious reasons. Something about having met Sam through shared contract discourse at an old job and ended up hanging out because of their mutual friend, Steve. Mrs Davis seemed very invested in these carefully rethought ventures Bucky was describing, and he thanked his lucky stars that a cab pulled up outside to honk at her when it did because her questions were starting to get a little… pointed. Like she thought there was more-than-friends going on between him and his housemate and he didn't fancy the tickle of acid at the back of his throat turning into a waterfall at _that_ prospect

"Be a dear and help me get my bags to the car," the lady requested with a playful pout, making a big deal of looking as if the handbag in her clutches was weighing her poor brittle self down. Bucky lifted the two large suitcases at the end of the stairs up on either shoulder and carried them outside with relative ease, giving the driver something to gawk uselessly at as he got the luggage into the trunk unassisted.

Mrs Davis gave the brunet another of her face squishes before getting into the cab, waving to the dog slumped on her front porch out the window as the car pulled off down the road, eventually out of sight. Setting his hands on his hips, Bucky watched her go before turning to Sasha, who gave a slow cock of his head in return.

"We've got our work cut out for us then, buddy," he announced, making his way back up to the house as the shepherd padded inside before him. His tail hung low and his ears were still at the alert, like he knew Bucky was staying and wasn't inherently dangerous, but not familiar enough to be deemed a friend yet either. The soldier didn't mind - that was a feeling he knew all too well. Hell, befriending this animal would likely be an easier endeavor than the same with most humans, sentient and capable of judgement.

Bucky could be patient.

* * *

Having spent about an hour exploring the rest of the house and familiarising himself with all of the appliances and security measures, Bucky found the room that used to belong to Mrs Davis' son and lugged his bag upstairs to unpack. Sam had forced him into a shopping trip a few days prior, and so most of the T-shirts and jumpers he had brought still had their tags and that weird store smell about them. As the brunette refolded his clothes and turned to the chest of drawers in the corner to put them away, he noticed Sasha sitting in the doorway. Just watching him.

There was an obvious regard for boundaries, as any step closer towards the door had the dog up on all fours, but receding further away settled him into sitting back down. Bucky hesitated a moment, an idea striking him but sounding awfully stupid to actually execute.

Then again, there was nobody around to call it stupid or even hear at all. Any idea is better than none, right?

"You, uh…" he started, arms folded over his chest as he side eyed Sasha. The pooch's ears pricked up ever so slightly, twitching in Bucky's direction. He was listening. "Do you do things easier when your momma talks to you?"

Sasha cocked his head, a curious look about him as his tail drummed against the floorboards a few times.

"I take that as a yes," the man affirmed, standing up straighter. "We can do that, I don't mind. Will you let me come over?"

The inch Bucky moved forward this time around now that he had announced himself was met with only a small shift on the spot, no other obvious discomfort. The soldier made sure that his steps were deliberate and obvious as he made an attempt to leave the room, careful not to tread on any paws or fur as he sidled through the doorway. Sasha whined softly regardless of the caution, lowering his head when Bucky was just a little too close, but otherwise seemed unbothered.

"Good boy," the brunet hummed proudly, starting to make idle chit chat out loud as he descended the stairs. It was likely curiosity of the noise that drove Sasha to follow a meter or so behind him, but that didn't matter.

Progress was progress.

And Bucky could work with that.


	4. An Opportunist, if Nothing Else

The first few days of dogsitting were… challenging, to say the least.

Man and canine had navigated the touch boundary to the point brief pets on the back and functional holding of the collar were acceptable.

When Bucky would sit down in the evening to watch a movie with dinner, Sasha would usually saunter into the living room halfway through and plop himself down by the leg of the sofa. Initially, it was the side furthest away from where the White Wolf sat, but some gentle coaxing and a small cube of beef from Bucky's plate convinced the pup that the other end of the couch was in fact safe. It became a habit then to lay down and stare up at the man, allowing a few minutes of back rubs in exchange for one or two morsels off the end of his fork. Things were looking up.

In the midst of trying to give Sasha his nighttime medicine for what Mrs Davis said was recovering stomach cancer though, they hit a snag. This didn't shock Bucky, as any animal - regardless of what they had gone through - was as likely as the next to lash out with a stranger standing over them and holding onto their muzzle to try and put something in their mouth. But nonetheless, there had been a bite, and the pride of both parties was damaged for a few hours.

The brunet didn't scold or punish Sasha, of course - he knew better. Simply telling the dog _No_ then removing himself from the situation was a decidedly wiser strategy.

It was as Bucky was sitting at the table putting a cold compress on his swollen right hand that Sasha approached him, almost apologetic in how his head was bowed and he gazed up through his eyelashes. Bucky quirked an eyebrow as the pooch scuffed at a blue dot on the floor, evidently having nosed his discarded medicine from the other side of the kitchen over to try again.

There were no more bites after that night. In fact, leaning over the shepherd and scratching his chin in thanks for his cooperation, it was then that Bucky received his first face lick.

* * *

"Don't do this," Bucky whined, head thrown back and arms limp at his sides. He gave another tug at the leash in his right hand, but Sasha stayed put. The dog had allowed for his harness to be put on and the leash to be attached, but as soon as the front door had been opened and his carer had stepped outside, Sasha sank to the floor and would not budge.

"We tried just doing laps of the garden and you got bored. So did I," Bucky lectured matter-of-family, free hand up on his hip. "Mr Franklin next door said that you were howling non-stop when I went to get milk yesterday, so I'm not leaving you here to annoy the rest of the neighbourhood."

Sasha planted his chin against the floor between his two front paws defiantly.

"Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But you're coming with me regardless, pal."

The dog barked sharply with a glint of challenge in his eyes, tail wagging steadily behind him.

"Fine," Bucky groaned, marching back up the driveway. For a moment, Sasha sat up, his tail going faster, having expected that he had won.

What he did not expect were the arms circling around his middle and the sudden lift upwards.

Sam - and evidently half of Twitter due to the wonders of technology - had seen a baseball capped and sunglassesed quote-unquote _ex-marine hunk_ carrying a German Shepard around Harlem like a baby by the end of the day, but groceries were acquired and Sasha got some fresh air. So, Bucky didn't really give a damn.

* * *

Once Sasha had figured out that he was fighting an uphill battle, he slowly came around to the idea of joining Bucky on jogs. Just quick ones around the block for something to do, but on one sunny afternoon, the dog was intent on going further, tugging the man down the street with a resolve of steel and his nose to the ground. Intrigued as to what could have roused him so intensely, Bucky followed the pup with a bemused expression. The White Wolf chuckled and shook his head as Sasha looked back at him with his tail wagging at full ninety, the entrance to the local park some twenty metres away.

Bucky let Sasha loose once they reached a large grassy area, the shepherd trotting off towards a small cluster of trees after a few moments of hesitation. There were a few dogs rolling about and yipping at each other playfully but, unsurprisingly to Bucky, Sasha simply ignored them, far too preoccupied in the thicket rummaging around for a stick. Having found one to his liking, the pooch ambled back over to his career, dropping it at Bucky's feet before lowering to the ground with his hind and tail high in the air.

"To think a couple hours ago you were full of grumbles not getting off the couch," Bucky chided, picking the stick up off of the ground. Being met with an excited bark, he put aside the playful grudge and hurled the stick away, it making a high arc in the air as it rocketed in the direction of the trees once more. The soldier feared he might have been a bit overenthusiastic with his throw for the senior dog, but then Sasha's face lit up like a kid's at Christmas and he was suddenly nothing but a beige streak of lightning, the stick not even having time to hit the ground before he had his jaws around it. The pup looked almost too proud of himself as he strutted back towards Bucky, ears perked up and muzzle held high, showing his spoils off to the rest of the park.

The soldier stood very much so corrected.

* * *

Their game of fetch relocated itself a number of times, Bucky finding that if he chucked the stick far enough in one direction, he could meet Sasha coming back halfway and get his own bit of a walk in. They did two circuits of the park before the dog had tuckered himself out, panting hard and letting his tail sweep from side to side at a low angle. The White Wolf could also do with a breather, and so they found a bench facing out onto a clearing to take a quick rest.

It was as Bucky was rummaging around in his rucksack for the bottle of water and small bowl he had packed before they left the house, that he noticed a brightly cloured flyer half-stamped into the ground. He hummed, filling the bowl and placing it down for Sasha before scooping the shiny page out of the dirt. Despite dusting off the larger flecks of dirt, the bottom half of the flyer was unsalvageable, but the header and first body of text were legible.

_**Night Club Staff Needed** _  
_Floor staff, bartender and cleaning staff needed urgently at Lower Manhattan club. Located near East Village, inquire inside for further details. No previous training necessary, late night hours with negotiable wages._

The rest of the text was cut off, but on the back was a map with the most convenient routes from local bus stations and subway stops to a club called _The Primadonna_.

Bucky made a noise of consideration, sitting back against the bench and turning the flyer this way and that. A night club… was he prepared to work in an atmosphere like that? Sweaty bodies swaying around drunkenly to booming music until the wee hours of the morning, no doubt vomit and other undesirable bodily fluids lurking at every left hand's turn - just the thought made the brunet shudder. The line about negotiable pay seemed to beckon him back from repulsion however, as effectively all of the other jobs he worked in the past six months were minimum wage at best and were getting him nowhere nearer moving into his own place. Of course, he appreciated every moment Sam had let him stay at his house, but two grown men of opposing personalities do tend to wear on each other's nerves after a while, even with five rooms to be apart from each other in.

Bucky knew from his youth that bar hours were not particularly sociable and that'd likely be one of the first things his housemate would point out if he caught wind of the idea, but who would Bucky be going out and about to see anyway? His priority was becoming independent again - being able to sustain himself and having his own place. The outside of office hours seemed to fit the bill to do just that, as only few would be so bold as to willingly work such late night shifts, aside from maybe college students, and so would be repaid for the dedication.

The generous prospect was worth a visit to the club, at the very least. 

With a decisive chuff to himself, the soldier stuffed the page into his bag and got to his feet, Sasha rising a few seconds later. The dish and bottle squared away at last too, Bucky crouched to the dog's level and gave him a gentle scratch under the chin.

"Let's say we get you home, huh bud?" the White Wolf crooned, earning a satisfied whine from Sasha as the pets traveled up his snout to behind his ear. "I'm gonna head back out, but you have a nap on the couch and I'll be back before you wake up. How does that sound?"

The pup gave a muted yip of approval, surging forward to lick a wet stripe up Bucky's mouth and nose, earning a chuckle of "Atta boy."


	5. Je Ne Sais Quoi

The streets of Manhattan were alive with activity despite the setting sun casting a deep peach sheen over them, the fluorescent lights of department stores and office windows flickering off in favour of the neons and strobe lights of bars and clubs. Bucky took it all in as he hopped off the bus, lips parted and eyes twinkling with awe. Everything looked bright and polished, the spit of all the far off futuristic cities dreamed up in the science fiction novels he read as a child - he doubted he'd ever not be mesmerised by it all.

Digging the flyer from earlier out of his pocket, he peered down at the map printed on it. He looked around for some of the more notable landmarks on the street to orient himself before following the given directions, turning off down a side street to be well on his way.

* * *

Despite its extravagant title, _The Primadonna_ was… admittedly rustic in appearance. Its front was comprised of plain sandy blocks and a squat cedar door, looking more like it belonged by the seaside with its hanging baskets and deck chairs and table set out than in the middle of the city. Bucky digressed however, as long narrow windows panned the breadth of the wall and hinted at the club's lively interior. He reached under his bomber jacket and smoothed over his checked button up, tucking it into the front of his drainpipe jeans with a deep exhale. While he'd have personally chosen to dress up a bit more for a job application, Sam insisted that the casual look in this context was better. A hoodie and sweatpants wouldn't do obviously, but if they wanted him serving drinks or behind the bar, he had to look in some way relaxed and approachable. More so than he felt, that was for sure.

Setting himself right, Bucky rolled his shoulders and held his head high before pushing the door open, stepping inside with what scrapings of confidence he had left.

The heat of the club hit him first. It rolled off of the colourfully clothed bodies of patrons dancing against each other in close knit clusters to the fast paced electronic music around them in waves. It sounded alien and distorted on Bucky's ears, but as the bassy thrums rocked deep into his chest and the beat slowly became more apparent, he started to nod along in time. The music was nothing on Frank Sinatra or The Ink Spots of course, but if he was to start working there, he might as well try and adjust. The dancing however, he could give a decided miss. All hips and flaily arms, the way bodies were gyrating against each other was just shy of vulgar in the soldier's books. Hard pass, definitely.

Exploring deeper into the club, Bucky carefully dodged being pulled into any dance circles or conversations, scanning around for the bar. If he was to have any luck finding a manager to ask about job applications, it'd probably be there. People stood waiting for their drinks around a large marble counter semi-circle tucked away in the far corner, two servers behind the bar labouring over cocktails at lightning speed. Bucky supposed he should let them alone to their business - his inquiry wasn't so high priority as to get in the way of them making money - and so he trotted over, lightly drumming his fingers against the counter and waiting patiently.

He looked around absently, intrigued by how different everything was on the surface, but also how in principle the concept of getting together was exactly the same as it was in his day. The drinks were bright blue and yellow and had little sparklers and umbrellas in them, but the same clinking of glasses and shrill giggles of delight were shared over them. There were wires jammed into computers and spilling out into speakers and huge lighting rigs everywhere, but the music still brought everybody together, carefree and simply happy to be up and moving. Victory rolls and coiffs were abandoned in favour of poker straight styles and fringes, starched dresses and tuxes outdated in the age of mini-skirts and skinny jeans. Though he couldn't quite call it an upgrade or objectively better, these kids with their fancy makeup and skin on show seemed… freer, more of themselves. And who was Bucky to judge them for that?

Something that also caught his eye was an arrangement of mini flags hanging over the doorway to what he presumed was a smoking area. Every country he could list off in his head was represented, even a few he couldn't identify. It filled his chest with warmth, to think that something as menial as lines drawn on a map couldn't get in the way of folks coming together for a few hours of fun. The innocence of it all, the freedom… though much of his past was filled with blank spots and holes, that desire to tear down barriers and just let people live that filled his being when he was drafted into the military in the 40s still rang through as clear as crystal.

Bucky cocked his head as he noticed a much larger flag, pinned to the wall by its four corners as proud as day surrounded by tacked up newspaper clippings and vintage photographs. Another one he didn't recognise with its six horizontal stripes, each being a colour of the rainbow. It looked nice, he had to admit, another addition to the explosion of colour that apparently just was _The Primadonna_.

"Can I help you?" boomed a deep but undoubtedly feminine voice, making Bucky's head snap in the direction of its origin. Being drawn so suddenly from his stupor, he naïvely expected his addressor to be at the same eye level as him, but was once again stumped to have to raise his line of sight an extra foot higher. A woman with dark skin and electric blue hair pulled into an elaborate updo peered down at him through 3 inch long lashes, a high arched matching blue eyebrow raised inquisitively at him. She was decked out in an emerald green dress, bedazzled with sequins that shimmered and sparkled in the light. Her nails looked sharp enough to gut a man from navel to chops within an instant, encrusted with small jewels and pearls that baffled Bucky to even think about how they were staying on.

"I'm, uhm," he stuttered, blinking in bewilderment as he wasn't exactly sure where to look. Getting together one singular cohesive thought, he fumbled out his flier. "This, I found this."

"... You came to give us back a chewed up copy of one of our fliers?" It seemed impossible for this woman's eyebrows to travel any higher up her forehead, but travel they did as she rested a hand against her tightly cinched waist.

"N-no, fuck…" Bucky muttered awkwardly, tucking the glossy page back into his pocket. She seemed to only get more amused as he couldn't quite look her in the eye, forcing himself to take a well needed breath. "The bit where it said staff needed. I'm here about that."

"Hmm…" the woman narrowed her eyes for a moment, moving to step out from behind the bar. Despite stepping down from the raised platform it was on, she still towered over Bucky by nearly three heads, intimidating him by no small feat. "Which position?"

"Honestly, I just need a job. Anything, really."

"Oh, she's a versatile queen, is she?" the woman hollered, giving one of the bartenders a bemused look and earning a chuckle. Whatever humour her words held went right over Bucky's head, but he didn't have time to question it as she was tugging his jacket this way and that and making a circle around him, scrutinising eyes boring into him from all angles. "You do have a certain… _je ne sais quoi_ about you, I'll give you that."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"... you know, you're lucky you're cute, fella. What experience do you have?"

"I was a lounge boy for a spell there when I was 14."

"And now?"

"... veteran."

"A little young to be calling yourself that now, no?"

"Sent home on an injury."

"My bad, then. What's your name, baby?"

"Bucky."

"Bucky what?"

"… just Bucky," the brunet decided, more sure of himself as he straightened up and nodded to the woman now back in front of him. She seemed to accept this answer as she pulled a thoughtful face, letting the soldier's clothes alone.

"Well then, just Bucky, the veteran. When can we have you?"

"When do you want me?"

"At home tonight, if I had it my way," the woman huffed with an exaggerated squeeze together of her thighs, prompting a snirk from Bucky at the unexpected forwardness. "But how does Monday at 7 sound?"

"I'll be here," the brunet asserted, a grateful smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards. "Thank you for this."

"No no, thank you," she exasperated, giving his shoulder a playful swat before returning to her station behind the bar. "Now get outta here before I call the cops on your ass! Flashing those pearly whites like some kinda sexy devil shark! _Ugh_!"

"Yes ma'am," Bucky chuckled, shaking his head to himself as he made his way back outside, hands stuffed in his pockets.

* * *

As he sat on the bus back to Mrs Davis' house, Bucky's head was reeling with the possibilities of the future and his heart was full of hope.

For the first time in a long while, he wasn't worried about who he used to be or what his future held.

Like he had told that tall over-the-top lady in the bar, he was just Bucky.

And that could be whoever he damn well wanted.


	6. Sing It from the Rooftops

Two things Bucky had learned while working at _The Primadonna_ ;

» People very much so enjoy impersonators of different genders while drunk

» The meaning behind the flags with the rainbows on them

* * *

Bucky had always considered himself an open minded person. He did his best not to judge people based on their personal choices or interests. And when he did find himself being judgemental, he made an effort to take a step back and do a bit of research on whatever topic had struck him so that he could at least understand where the other person might be coming from. He might not have gotten it right all of the time given just how much cultural progression he had missed out on, but he tried his best.

Catching up with slang and technology were surprisingly not all that difficult. Some words were okay to say, some only in certain circumstances, and some not okay at all, and Bucky took this on board eagerly. In all honesty, he found the extent to which some of the restriction of language was implemented to be a bit excessive, but in the general scheme of things, he understood why it was necessary. The internet was a great resource in playing catch-up with history after the 40s, and Sam was patient enough with him in filling in the blanks on what Stonewall and the Civil Rights Movement and various other human rights milestones were all about that Wikipedia couldn't quite do subjective justice. Bucky could sense an uneasiness from the other man in the beginning, but as Sam understood that the soldier's questions were coming from a place of genuine ignorance rather than bigotry or judgement, everything came quite easily.

The extent to which Bucky was ignorant to the world of sexuality and gender really took himself by surprise.

He knew that people could be gay or straight, of course. That was just a universal fact. But learning that it went deeper and broader than that, and it being perfectly acceptable in most spheres to top it off, was certainly a lot to take in.

He had heard of men dressing up as women and vice versa. He'd heard of people not feeling like their bodies matched what they felt like on the inside. He'd also heard of people who felt so strongly on the matter that they got their bodies changed in order to match up with how they felt. But it was never much more than hearsay to him. The technology simply wasn't there to change people's sexes seamlessly and affordably in his time, and even those gutsy enough to get the surgeries and procedures didn't usually live very long to tell the tale afterwards. Of course, technology by its very nature is constantly changing and making people's lives better, and so for science to support the fact that people who felt like their gender didn't correspond to the one they grew up with existed and to have ways to support and help them was just as dazzling as the day Howard Stark revealed a semi-functioning flying car at the science expo in Brooklyn.

The aspect of sexuality being more than just straight or gay hit a little closer to home than the whole gender thing. ' _Think of it as more of a spectrum of colour than just black or white_ ,' Kandy - who he had learned was the name of the lady, and indeed drag queen, he had been speaking to during his first night at _The Primadonna_ \- had explained very wisely.

Some people liked guys, some people liked girls, some liked both, some liked neither. Hell, some people identified as neither, and that brought in this whole idea of liking people regardless of what they identified as. At first, it was a complete information overload for our poor soldier. He figured you kind of just… chose one way to swing and you stuck to it, but these kids coming into bars and clubs like _The Primadonna_ were just going with the flow and doing whatever was right at any given point. There was less of this attitude of choosing and instead a greater sense of just… feeling. And that was actually something Bucky envied their generation for growing up with, but ultimately was fascinated with and proud of them and their predecessors for cultivating and culminating.

Figuring out where he fit into this big melting pot of identity and exploration was a challenge he had to face pretty head-on.

It all started when he met Sandra.

* * *

As he settled into his new job and was scoping out potential apartments to move into, it was actually Sam that suggested Bucky got into the dating game. ' _A reason to get out of the house on your hours off_ ,' the Falcon had said to justify the idea. There was a little bit of just wanting his bachelor pad back to himself lurking in the background, but of course that was understandable. For the most part, he was just coming from a place of support for his friend and wanting some of the normal life Bucky never really got a chance at to be available to him. The soldier, regardless of how terrified he was at jumping right into the saddle like that, couldn't argue.

Bucky took a stab at using one of those online dating app thingamabobs, but the girl he first met up with from there was all talk over text and then completely silent in person. He really didn't have the energy to wade through any more of that, so it was deleted off his phone faster than you could say _Tinder_.

Chatting up girls at bars went a little better.

Well, chatting up is putting it smoother than Bucky's actual execution, but he got talking to a few girls, bought them drinks and got a number or two and things went from there. Nothing all that substantial as most people in the 25 to 30 year old age bracket preferred bluntness and a more forward course of action and Bucky was a bit shy in that regard, but it did help up his confidence.

And finally Sandra came along.

She was a vision in a skin tight velvet red dress and covered with freckles, black strappy stilettos giving her an extra few inches but still only reaching Bucky's nose. She spotted him through the crowd at a Hard Rock Café on one of their throwback evenings. Initially, the eye contact only piqued Bucky's interest for a few moments, but when Sandra had strode her way over, taken his beer out of his hand and downed the entirety of it to only then say ' _Hi, how are ya?_ ' in her crisp Dublin accent, the dirty blonde bobbed dame had his attention in its entirety.

The pair hit it off almost instantly. Bucky had tried to take it slow, really he did. He took her to dinner twice, the movies three times, walked her around probably all of Manhattan in a night with only a few chaste kisses to each of their names, but one night he escorted her to the door of her apartment building and something snapped. Within a matter of moments, they were inside the elevator to the sixth floor and their bodies collided like a pair of meteorites. Hands found skin through and under shirts and on god, Bucky had never felt so alive. They scarred a poor old lady who probably just wanted to get to reception along the way as the doors opened prematurely, but the breathy giggles and fixing of clothes just added to the thrill. Like being a teenager all over again.

Making Sandra's body sing under him against her mattress with his mouth and hands was total euphoria. They'd probably get an earful in the morning wondering who the hell Bucky was and why Sandra had been screaming his name over and over every other night, but neither of them cared. He was hungry, more starved than he had realised, and she was more than happy to indulge him.

It was as she laid there in the afterglow one night, her fingers still balled around the hair of the man with his face rising from between her legs, that Sandra asked a question.

"Not that I don't love what we do, but when will we go further?"

This stumped Bucky in his tracks. Despite their relationship having gone on for about a month and being a very satisfying one at that, they had never gone further than oral. Even being fully naked around the girl was something the soldier had been avoidant of. Bottomless was fine, but he always kept at least a T-shirt on. Sandra knew about his arm - it was kind of impossible for her not to at that stage - but he had never let her see where the artificial limb and himself met.

The scarring wasn't as gaudy as it used to be. Shuri had been very attentive in minimising the effects of it with the new arm, even in repairing some of the damaged tissue around the area of installation and Bucky couldn't thank the Wakandan princess enough. But even futuristic science geniuses had their limits, it seemed, because he couldn't bring himself to look at the marred skin around his shoulder, puffed and glossy against the rest of him, most days. But there he was, hiding away parts of himself from somebody he had grown to trust, was intimate with.

He was hiding enough of himself as it was, and so he had to start somewhere.

They took it slow, continuing on just giving each other head or using hands for a number of nights, only fully naked. Naturally, Sandra wanted to look after a while, to touch, and Bucky nearly threw up the first time around he was so self conscious about the arm. When she cupped his cheeks, smiled at him and kissed him the same way she always did however, he knew he was in safe hands.

From there, Bucky didn't hold back anymore, and the neighbours started complaining about more than just shrill callings of his name.

* * *

Bucky blinked down at the contraption sitting in his lap. He had seen a dildo before, of course, but this one was slotted into a ring with a harness attached to it.

Sandra had her hands prised to her chest as she pouted at him, her big brown eyes expectant and full of hope. They had talked around changing things up in the bedroom a couple of times, and of course he was always eager to keep this energetic babe in his life satisfied and entertained, but the prospect of letting _her_ bend him over and fuck _him_ was… well, it was a bit daunting.

They spent a good few hours reading articles together and having frank conversation about preparation and aftercare, since anal penetration turned out to be a lot more work than Bucky first anticipated it being. Sandra knew what she was on about of course, as there was little that woman hadn't experimented with, but she was extremely patient with him, evidently just as concerned with pleasuring him with this idea of pegging him as she was with herself.

And how could Bucky say no to that?

Having taken a few ganders at clips on PornHub and watched his diet for several days previous in anticipation, the day finally arrived and Bucky's eyes were opened to a whole world he never thought to consider before.

The shift in their dynamic took both parties by storm. Not only did Sandra get to exercise the more dominant aspects of her personality that being a petite effeminate woman didn't usually give her the opportunity to, but Bucky also realised just how much he actually liked to be dominated.

With his track record, he thought handing over the power to another person on that level would have been the last thing he'd have been into. But getting his face shoved into a pillow and just taken the way Sandra would take him? It hit different. It sent him all the way to cloud nine and he had never had more satisfying sex in his life. Having the girl pin his wrists to his sides while she slammed into him over and over until tears pricked the corners of his eyes and his throat went raw from his hapless sobs of pleasure that rang throughout the room changed the game. Completely.

There was nothing demasculinising about it, he was surprised to find out. Outside of the bedroom, Sandra still hung off his arm twirling her hair and letting him pay for dinner, calling him her handsome man and letting him walk her home. It became… normal.

Rather than being locked up in one of Hydra's laboratories at the mercy of some psycho scientist whackjob, Bucky's brain slowly started to associate submission and compliance with laying himself out on Sandra's mattress and giving over to that jaunty Irish smirk of hers.

The normality of doing so, and the stability of her being the one to do it to him.

* * *

All good things must come to an end, and this proved true for their six month relationship in toe as Sandra had to move back home for a family emergency. They would stay in contact and still be friends of course, but after a very thorough sit down conversation, they both agreed that a long distance relationship wasn't what either of them needed at that point. It was bittersweet, as they'd miss each other terribly, but they both knew it was for the best.

Bucky was pretty torn up about the break up, as was natural. He had to take down several very difficult walls in order to go where he and Sandra did, and while he didn't hold anything against her for something that was completely out of her control, he hated all of the time he had alone now that she was gone. Kandy was kind enough as to find extra hours for him to keep his mind off things, later into the night and on the higher peak days during the week. Bucky threw himself at his work completely, taking up being behind the bar as well as general serving and upkeep around the floor, just to stay busy. It stood to him well, because as his face became more regular around the club, his tips got more generous and his paycheck higher, putting him in a better position to first of all do some comfort shopping, but also making settling into an apartment for himself all the more within reach.

This new sense of purpose lifted his spirits significantly, feeling like he really was getting somewhere despite the gaping hole in his chest in Sandra's absence. It was as he attentively filled a pint glass under the Carlsberg tap and handed it across the bar one night that warm fingers traced the back of Bucky's hand.

He caught the eye of the culprit, a broad dark haired man with sallow skin and high cheekbones. With a charming smile and a not so subtle glance down the length of the soldier's body, Bucky felt his mouth go dry as the man took his drink and sauntered away, keeping his gaze until he disappeared into the crowd.

The brunet stood transfixed, his heart hammering away against his ribcage as he wetted his lips. Not a word had been exchanged between the two of them, and yet Bucky felt like a hook had been looped beneath his sternum and its line was dragging him to wherever that man was going. Blinking himself from his stupor, the soldier took the next patron's order and forced himself to focus. He could find whoever he was later - Bucky still had a job to do.

* * *

If there was only one thing Bucky had to thank Sandra for, it was helping him figure out what he liked.

Because as he laid down in bed with a man for the first time at 4AM that crisp autumn night, he realised exactly what he had been missing out on all his life and he wasn't about to ever look back.


	7. Krummes Holz gibt auch gerades Feuer

If you were to say to Bucky that three years had passed, he probably wouldn't believe you.

In one breath, likely because he had stopped keeping track of the days. He had no need to anymore - his routine of getting up out of bed in the early afternoon, knocking in to Mrs Davis' house to collect Sasha, going for a run, dropping the dog home, doing chores then going off to work in the evening had become normal. He didn't live with Sam anymore, but had set up shop in an apartment only about 15 minutes away on foot. Bucky liked Harlem, and Sam liked to keep an eye on the fellow ex-soldier, and so really it all worked out.

In another breath, because three years sounded like an awfully long time. He didn't stop to think about his past or who he used to be pretty much at all those days, because why would he? The only constant person in his life who really knew about any of that was Sam, but he in particular understood the value of letting it go. Others came and went, of course, but none of them knew the Winter Soldier. Of him, maybe, but only from conspiracy theories online or outdated newspaper articles. Meeting Bucky, all they came to know was exactly that - not the Winter Soldier, not Sergeant Barnes of the Howling Commandos, just Bucky.

He liked it that way, being able to start anew, living his life like any other 33 year old. It was certainly a sharp turn from hiding out in an abandoned apartment in Bucharest with little more than a backpack, his journals and the clothes on his back to his name. He had been prepared to spend the rest of his days like that, ducking into the shadows whenever people found a new reason to want his head on a pike and running until the dust settled.

But the thing was, nobody was looking anymore. He didn't _have_ to run. Finally, his future was in his hands, it was him who called the shots.

He felt at peace.

Which is why as he finished up putting cleaned glasses and silverware away with the rising sun pouring in through the windows of _The Primadonna_ , Bucky was a bit disconcerted to find his phone ringing with an unknown number on the display. Glancing around, the only other people in the club were the cleaning staff and one or two of the performers taking off their extravagant costumes to go home for the night. Polishing off one more glass and placing it upturned on the shelves of the back wall, Bucky grabbed his jacket and motorcycle helmet from beneath the counter. Tucking the lot under his arm, he answered the call and made his way to the exit.

“I’m really sorry to be bothering you so early in the morning,” came a familiar apologetic tone, aged but still soft as ever. “But I wouldn’t call unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“Dr Banner,” Bucky blinked in surprise, Bruce being probably the last person he expected to be hearing from. Balancing his helmet and jacket on the seat of his motorbike parked around back, the brunet wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he fished around for his keys. “That’s alright, I, uh… I was up anyway. What can I do you for?”

“How soon do you think you could make it to the Starks’ place?” the scientist’s request held a note of urgency that stopped Bucky in his tracks. He got the feeling that this wasn’t a friendly _can I borrow some tea bags and sugar?_ sort of call.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain everything when you get here, the others are already on their way,” Bruce rushed through his words, growing distant to suggest he was preoccupied with the phone not right next to him. “I’ve gotta go, but please hurry.”

The click on the other end of the line tremoured through Bucky’s chest, the dial tone making his lungs compress further in on themselves with each obnoxious beep.

_The others_.

He swallowed against his newly dry throat, shrugging into his jacket and forcing his hair out of his face. Three years, it had been three years since he had seen any of the other Avengers. Somehow, it had never dawned on him that he might ever actually see them again. Not that he was dead set on avoiding them and god forbid he had anything against any of them, but… he had gotten so caught up in his new life and what he had found, that it never occurred to him that there would have to be anything else. Of all of the things his brain could have decided to do on him, repressing the existence of a found family once nearly torn apart over him was certainly not the kindest.

How horribly naïve he felt as he got himself strapped into his helmet, rolling his shoulders in hope of easing some of the tension in them. War was a running theme throughout his life, he was stupid to think that was ever going to change. Taking off the lock mechanism before throwing a leg over, Bucky took his bike off its stand and waded it off the curb, revving the engine a few times before taking off, out of the city.

* * *

Sam's car was already parked outside by the time Bucky pulled up to the lakeside house, accompanied by four others whose drivers seemed to already be inside. Taking a deep breath, Bucky removed his helmet and made his way up the driveway, ignoring the way his heart was trying to burst a hole through his chest and fly away as best as he could.

The front porch was littered with colourful dolls and stuffed animals, no doubt the doings of Morgan. The image of the girl, so young and confused, sending off her father's remains the last time everybody was together made Bucky's stomach churn. He made a conscious effort not to step on any of the toys as he climbed the steps, finding the door slightly ajar. The conversation from within met him halfway, sounding tense with several overlapping voices. With a shaky breath, he slipped inside and closed the door over as gently as possible. The hinges made a betraying squeak however and all heads snapped in his direction.

"... sorry," Bucky croaked meekly, lips pursed as he gave a small wave.

"Sergeant Barnes," a gruff tone piped up, stepping away from the table the cohort of six were huddled around in the study. Wong - the man's name, if Bucky remembered correctly - made a motion towards the newly opened space and gave a curt nod. "Please, join us."

Bucky inwardly cringed at the address but wasn't about to dawdle, setting his helmet down on the nearby coffee table. Relieved that the attention went back to the centre and off of him, he unzipped his jacket and maneuvered over.

"When did this message come in?" Rhodey pressed, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"At about 2AM," came Bruce's reply. "No doubt the FBI are all over it at this stage, but it could be bigger than them."

"Like hell it _could be_ ," Clint groused, giving the tabletop a solid thump before turning away, all huffs and head shakes. "It's a message from outer space, of course it's gonna be bigger than the FBI."

"We don't know that yet," Stephen Strange intercepted, tapping around on a data pad and flicking icons around to change the holographic display being projected from a disk at the centre of the table. "If Earth were under any serious threat, we'd already be dead."

"That's a cheery note to start off with on a Sunday morning," Sam sighed, scooting to the side to make more room as Bucky joined them.

"What's the message?" the White Wolf beckoned, trying to make some sense of the jumble of star maps and audio files spread out in front of him.

"It's encrypted," Rhodey explained, giving one of the translucent boxes a tap. "It doesn't sound like anything from S.H.I.E.L.D's or the FBI's archives."

Indeed, the sound clip that played was only a series of shrill crackles and garbled screeches, making Bucky frown.

"Is there no source we can trace? An origin, anything?" Clint pleaded, only to be met with a solemn shake of Wong's head. The archer threw his eyes up to heaven in frustration as he moved to the living room. "I thought we were done with all this three years ago."

"Yes, well, sorry to burst your bubble," Stephen spoke pointedly, visibly agitated as he scrolled through more maps and star charts. "But the universe doesn't tend to wait around for our honeymoon period to be over."

"Honeymoon period?" Rhodey scoffed, folding his arms across his chest incredulously. "I suppose killing titans and time travel are just kooky summer camp activities to you then, huh?"

"It was a figure of speech."

"Now's not exactly the time for riddles and poetry, Doctor _we're not under any serious threat_."

"Can't any of you act like adults and be civil around each other for five minutes?" scolded Pepper, who Bucky hadn't noticed was sitting at the breakfast table. She was wrapped up in her dressing gown, pinching the bridge of her nose over a cup of coffee. Her hair was messily bunned and she looked like the epitome of exhaustion, like the only place she wanted to be was back in her bed and Bucky frankly couldn't blame her.

A few apologies were muttered her way, a tense silence falling over the house as everybody stared in their respective dead aheadnesses.

Sam was the first to break it with a hushed "What do we do?"

"Realistically, all we can do is wait it out," Wong sighed, leaning on his fists heavily against the table. "If something does come, it is better for us to be together and make a plan of action."

"The tech here isn't ideal," Bruce muttered, scratching at his stubbled chin in thought. "But Strange and I can keep trying to decrypt the message, or at least keep tabs on if anything out of the ordinary enters the atmosphere."

"Everybody else…" Stephen trailed off, wetting his lips with his eyes lowered. "Just keep on the alert."

"If you're all staying," Pepper announced, rising from the table decidedly. "That calls for a fresh pot of coffee."


	8. The Calm Before the Storm

Though Bucky had never been in the Avengers facility before its destruction, the way the others interacted with each other in the Stark residence gave him a pretty vivid image of what it might have been like. Rhodey hovered about as Bruce and Stephen tapped relentlessly away at two screens connected to the holographic displays, asking counter questions to many of the hypotheticals and theories the two men came up wit in their research, peppering in a sarcastic remark here or there. Clint had helped set up video links with Shuri and Hank Pym, having an extra set of more experienced minds hard at work to weigh in on the discussion. Momentary squabbles fizzled in and out with the stress and concentration levels on high, but each still found time to offer the others top ups of coffee the longer into the afternoon the whole charade dragged on.

Most of the sciencey jargon went way over the White Wolf's head. He always had an interest in the great unknown and what else might be out there beyond human comprehension, but never quite had the time to educate himself on more than what a good magazine article could teach him - key words and common concepts about space, but barely scratching the surface in terms of an astrophysicist or Master of the Mystic Arts' artillery.

Sam had taken to sitting on the porch with Pepper to stay out of the way, quiet words being exchanged in hopes of soothing each other's minds in the midst of all their own speculation about alien invasions and hostility. Bucky supposed he should have joined them, thrown his two cents into the _I don't know what the hell is going on but we'll be okay_ jar, but he couldn't bring himself to. Though he didn't know what all of the scientists in the room were prattling on about, it settled his mind more to stay out of the loop than to engage with the talk of the common folk.

Looking around the downstairs of the house, there were artefacts and evidence of family life everywhere. Pictures of little Morgan having picnics by the lake and sledding in the snow lined the mantelpiece, interspersed by photos of her up on Pepper's hip or holding hands at the beach. One featured the agent Bucky had seen sitting with Morgan back at the end of the funeral- Happy, that was his name. Happy was buried up to his shoulders in the sand in this photo, sunglasses over his eyes and his sleeping face alight with red from the sun. The soldier chuckled to himself as he touched the frame, a delighted Morgan beaming beside the man and looking so innocent and carefree. Bucky's heart sank however as the crinkled eye and tuft of greying hair in the corner caught his notice, unmistakably those of Tony Stark.

As Bucky made the rounds to the rest of the pictures in the living room, more and more of Tony's memory seeped in, being commemorated with images of him and Pepper clinking glasses of wine over dinner, him kissing a grinning Morgan's cheek, him looking overly proud in a princess tiara made for heads several times smaller than his own, and so on. The three of them were a beautiful family, so dedicated to and in tune with one another. Bucky's chest ached for them, wishing that things didn't have to be the way they were, with so much life lost. His mind was about to wander to the lab in Siberia, the way Tony looked up from the CCTV footage of the night of his parents' murder in Long Island at him and how broken he looked, until there was a tug at Bucky's sleeve.

He startled, blinking away the sting threatening at his eyes before looking down. 

"Is the bike outside yours?" Morgan asked, her fingers still curled around the cuff of Bucky's right sleeve as she stared up at him with her big brown eyes. He was flabbergasted for a moment, stunned in part by the innocent bluntness of the question but also by the confidence with which the young girl asked it.

"Yeah… it is," he nodded, cocking his head at the way the child's face lit up with curiosity and question.

"Can we go look?" she pressed, bouncing on her heels enthusiastically. Bucky couldn't fight the faint tug at the corner of his lips at the excitement blooming over the girl's features.

"Sure," he shrugged, being met with a grin before being dragged insistently towards the front door. Bucky caught Pepper's eye as they passed through the porch and descended the steps, maternal caution creasing her brow as she watched them like a hawk. He didn't have time to explain where they were going on what they were doing because Morgan had spotted his vehicle and was honing in on it like a little missile, pulling the soldier with her.

"The engine is still warm," she announced matter-of-factly, pressing a small hand against the bike's tank. Looking back over her shoulder for affirmation, she let go of the White Wolf's sleeve before walking in a slow circle around the bike. The twinkle in her eye as she admired every inch of it intrigued Bucky, him folding his arms and just watching.

"How fast does it go?" the girl piped up, going on her tippy toes to try and get a look at the dashboard.

"Pretty fast."

"How far has it been?"

"Well, it wasn't always mine, so-" Bucky started, pausing as she looked at him very seriously. He made a thoughtful noise, remembering that this was a Stark he was dealing with, and the concept of a secondhand bike probably wasn't challenging to her. "About 20,000 miles."

Morgan seemed satisfied with this answer as she kneeled down to start poking at the wheels. "You need new tyres soon. This bit doesn't want to stay on."

"... so it doesn't," the White Wolf chuffed, crouching to the child's level to find the treads were coming apart. How he, the rider, hadn't noticed the wear on his tyres had gotten that bad and yet this seven year old immediately zoned in on it was beyond him, but needless to say he was impressed. "I'll get them looked at later."

* * *

Morgan continued to prod around at the bike for a good 15 minutes, making statements about the condition it was in and asking about what it drove like, seemingly confirming little theories in her head as she went with the way her eyebrows would furrow and she would nod solemnly to herself at Bucky's answers. It was quite endearing to see the very serious expressions cross her features despite her notably childish vocabulary. Not to discredit her intelligence, because it was quite clear to him that her little brain was wrapping itself around concepts and mechanical reasoning that even he would need to step back and have a good think about, at lightning speed. She was just like her father.

"Do you wanna sit up on it?" Bucky asked, getting an instant gasp of delight in response as if the young Stark had been waiting for him to ask all day. Scooping her up under the armpits, the soldier lifted her over the tank of the bike with ease to place her in the seat. Morgan practically beamed as she reached for the steering, her fingers barely long enough to wrap around the brakes and accelerator.

"Mommy, look!" she called out, swinging her legs as Pepper poked her head above the cushion of the chair she was sitting on in the porch. Bucky gave a meek smile, half expecting to be scolded to take her down right away, but Pepper's features softened immediately. In fact, the fond look in her eyes took the White Wolf completely by surprise, almost approving in how the mother placed her chin atop her folded hands over the backrest. Chest swelling with pride, Bucky was about to turn back to the girl when an exclamation boomed from inside, breaking up the momentary peace.

"Something's entered the atmosphere!" Bruce called out, followed by a loud thump from his head hitting the ceiling as he must have stood up too quickly. Sam and Bucky exchanged panicked looks, the latter quickly helping Morgan down off the bike before everybody rushed inside.

"Do we know what it is?" Clint pressed, already back at the equipment table with a deep crease in his brow.

"A ship," Stephen replied, curt and to the point as he started to pack up. "Not of Earth origin, not like anything we've seen before."

"Well, what do we do? Do we suit up?" piped up Sam, looking between the other men pensively.

"There's no time," Wong clarified, shaking his head as he too took pads and scanners from the table. "The ship is due for impact in Montauk in thirteen minutes and we need to leave now."

"Montauk?" Rhodey remarked in disbelief. "We'll never make it in time."

"Nah nah, we've got the wizards," Sam reminded, drawing attention to Strange standing off to the side, making a wide circular motion with his arm around two raised fingers. Yellow sparks tracked his movements before making a vibrant flash, a portal opening in their wake.

"For the last time - not a wizard," Stephen chided through a deadpan, but quickly dropped it in favour of hurrying everybody along. "All of you, grab a pad or a scanner. Something. We may not be able to stop whatever it is, but so long as we identify it, somebody could. Now let's move."

All obeyed, loaded up with equipment before lining up to duck into and through the portal. Stephen glanced back at Pepper, holding her daughter close as she gave an anxious nod.

"I'll hold down the fort," she assured, a slight quiver to her voice as Morgan pressed her face into her mother's hip. "Please… be safe."

Stephen pursed his lips solemnly, bidding her with a silent promise before himself moving through the portal. It gave a loud whirr before shrinking, fizzling out and leaving an eerie silence to hang heavily over the Stark household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astrophysics and sciencey lingo aren't exactly my strong suits, so please forgive if not everything is 100% accurate :') Upward and onward✌


	9. And She Got Friendly, Down in the Sand

The seven men stood at the grassy cliff face, dispersed between tapping away at screens and staring uneasily at the sky. Looks truly could be deceiving because, if Bruce and Stephen hadn't called everybody to the alert, it seemed like a perfectly normal afternoon. Looking out onto the beach, the waves lapping calmly at the sand and gulls squawking faintly overhead - nothing about it read possible hostile spacecraft inbound, really.

"There, it's coming," Clint called out, proving himself the sharpest eye of them as he shaded his brow with one hand, the other pointing far out east. The others sprang into action, Bruce raising a scanner out in the new fiery blip's direction while Strange and Wong exchanged an intent nod, lowering into ready stances to summon shields at the front of the crowd.

A great shriek pierced the air as the ship hurtled towards the Earth, gaining speed by the second. Her hull was practically engulfed in flames, thick black smoke clouds billowing out behind her and staining the sky in her wake. Even from their distance, the air was claimed by a thick haze of heat and light all hands were raised to haplessly protect their eyes. The ship hit the sea with a tremendous smack, ploughing along the surface for a good half a kilometer and sending massive sheets of water up into the air. She rocketed past the headland and only slowed to a stop as she hit the shallows, her nose burrowed deep onto the sand on the shore by the time she fully ceased. The scorched metal sizzled and hizzed as moisture refused to stay put, steam rising from it while the engines dampened to a low rattle.

The Avengers looked down onto the beach then between each other, sharing the same brain wave as they scrambled down the hill to investigate in unison.

Being the best armed, the sorcerors took the lead, making elaborate hand signs to summon gauntlet-like encasements of light around their forearms, on standby for defensive spells. Pausing ten or so yards from the crashed vessel, a pin dropping could be heard by the time the hissing slowly fizzled out, her mechanical innards well and truly dying.

"There's lifesigns," Bruce called out, audibly gulping as he lowered his data pad. "I don't know what they are, but there's more than one-"

The ship gave a great creak then, shuffling echoing from inside before a loud thump rang against the roof, then another and another. One of the metal panels started to buckle under the repeated barrage, denting outwards until the final blow landed and it flew high into the air. The panel stabbed into the sand with a sharp thud, easily two meters tall even while embedded into the earth.

"Steady," Stephen muttered, flexing his fingers and asserting his guard uneasily. A collective breath was held between the seven men as a pair of grey-blue hands emerged from the hole in the ship, grappling at the edge and starting to haul their owner out with his broad back towards the onlookers. "I am Doctor Stephen Strange, state your planet of origin and your business here or we will-"

"Yo, is that the wizard dude?" came a spritely American accent, stopping the Avengers in their tracks. Out of the ship popped a light brown coiff and meticulously styled facial hair, unmistakably those of the man who called himself _Starlord_. His face lit up and he gave an animated overhead wave. "Well, aren't you guys a sight for sore eyes!"

"I don't believe this," Clint huffed, pushing the scanner he no longer had any use for into Banner's arm and stuffing his hands into his pockets as he stalked off towards the lighthouse.

"I do not think they are pleased to see us," Mantis observed, sticking her head out of the ship and peeking over her hands curiously.

"A little warning might have been nice," Rhodey piped up, arms folded over his chest and making him look just as fed up as he sounded. "A call or a text, maybe? We're very fond of our email too, emails are always good."

"What?" Starlord scoffed, hands raised incredulously. "We sent a transmission, ' _We're in the Milky Way, impromptu crash landing is happening. See you in an hour_ '. I did it myself, you guys remember, right?"

"Yeah, Quill, you did. But this is a Brood ship, genius," Rocket sniped from inside the ship, being the next to make an appearance as he climbed out with a bag hiked up on his shoulder and slid down the curve of the hull, landing on the beach.

"In hindsight, the communications system of this ship and Earth probably aren't very compatible," Drax pointed out as he turned around, thumbs resting in his belt loops nonchalantly.

"... well then, why didn't one of you try to stop me?!" Peter exclaimed, looking between his shipmates expectantly.

"It is funny to watch you do things that are pointless," Mantis explained brightly, a delighted crinkle to her eyes as she bobbed on the spot a few times.

"I am Groot," affirmed another voice, deep and full but still holding the croak of youth.

"Don't side with them, Groot!" Starlord scolded, scowling like a toddler having to share his favorite candy. Shoving past the others, he too hauled himself out before any more mockery could be sent his way. "C'mon, it's like a sardine can in here."

"I did not see any sardines," Drax hummed with his eyes narrowed quizzically, soon joining Quill and Rocket down on the beach with the other Guardians in tow, each lugging down their own respective luggage and belongings. Their ship didn't seem in any fit condition for a return journey back to wherever they had come from.

"To what do we owe your visit?" Wong asked, beckoning the newcomers to join the rest of the Avengers in trekking back up towards the cliff.

"Funny story actually. You remember your old pal, Loki?" Rocket asserted, hefting his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. "He's been doing some timeline hopping and causing all sorts of shit. And guess who's having to clean that mess up!"

"Loki?" Bruce breathed, a frown creasing his great green brow. "I thought we set everything right with all that three years ago."

"It'd seem the timeline you fixed turned into its own alternate one. Because that slimey bastard got his hands on the Tesseract and bolted when you first went back to New York. Whether it happened the second time around or not, doesn't matter, because now he's our problem."

"... shit," Stephen concluded intelligently, folding one arm over his chest and raising the other hand to his mouth.

* * *

Trailing behind to begin with, Bucky's ears pricked up as more rustling came from the ship. He paused for a moment, glancing between the group and the crash site pensively. His curiosity got the better of him and he hung back, circling the ship from a few meters away. The noise became more apparently shuffling and voices from within - he had gotten the feeling that there were a couple of bodies too few to be _all_ of the guardians.

"Curse this awkward bag shape," came a woman's gruff and begrudging tone, followed by more clattering and what sounded like objects inside the ship being knocked over. Another voice called out to her, but not as clear with the distance. The woman - blue from head to toe with mechanical components incorporated into her form - hopped up and perched herself on the edge of the hole, straining herself dragging a bag strap up towards her. "Push, you oaf!"

"Need a hand?" Bucky cupped around his mouth for volume and yelled up to her. Her head snapped in his direction, a challenging frown creasing her features. The brunet mustered up the least threatening gesture he could possibly think of, settling on a brief wave. It seemed to do the trick because she scanned him up and down before nodding, however wary it was.

The process of climbing up onto the left wing of the ship and reaching up to catch the end of the bag wasn't a graceful one by any means, but the pair persevered and, with much exclamation about its weight and a slight sweat broken, brought the luggage down onto the beach successfully in the end.

"Thank you," the blue lady affirmed once she too had climbed down, regarding Bucky with a small bow of her bald head.

"Don't mention it," he gave a polite purse of his lips before offering out his left hand. "I don't think we've met before. Bucky." The woman hesitated.

"... Nebula," she pressed, meeting his hand in the middle to shake it. There was a light clack of metal against metal and Bucky gave an audibly surprised noise.

"Huh… looks like we're the same."

"If years of being torn apart and put back together with metal in place of what's broken is 'the same' to you."

"... you'd be surprised-"

"Flirting with the Midgardians already, are we?" boomed a new voice, drawing both parties' attention towards its owner. Elbows resting over the lip of the hole in the ship, a man with heaps of messy blond waves piled onto his head grinned down at them playfully.

"I was not flirting," Nebula groused, pointedly retracting her hand and snapping it to her side. She glared daggers over her shoulder as she promptly stalked off, making a point of leaving the bag behind her. "You carry it. It's yours anyway."

The man seemed to pout for a moment at that but quickly shook his head of the thought, throwing a leg up and pulling himself out of the ship with relative ease, full thanks to how tall he was. This impressive height was further emphasised as he hopped down, landing in a crouch only to slowly rise to his full size. Bucky was by no means short himself, but by god did he feel tiny next to this blond behemoth. He wasn't slim by any means, most trim in at his hips as his body shape was much akin to that of a barrel - bulky around the chest and middle with broad shoulders - but he was filled out with muscle to spare, that much was clear.

"What's in there?" Bucky asked, clearing his throat as he realised he was staring. For emphasis, he gave the bag a light tap with his foot. "It weighs a tonne."

"I'd wager it might," the man shrugged, leaning down to hook an arm into the bag's strap and hoist it onto his shoulder in the most nonchalant way. As if it were no more than a small sack of feathers, a minor inconvenience compared to the heavy burden of Bucky and Nebula's efforts. The brunet's mouth went dry as the man flashed an inviting smile, happily oblivious to the impressiveness of his display of strength. "It is my weapon."

"Sounds a bit much for some old weapon to me," Bucky commented, squinting suspiciously at this stranger. The previous smile widened to a grin, the man's sky blue eyes crinkling at the corners in bemusement.

"You do not know who I am, do you?" he looked almost thoughtful as he cocked his handsome head to the side, openly glancing up and down the soldier's frame

"Should I?"

"Well, we weren't formally introduced, so I suppose not."

"... right," was all Bucky could think to say, suddenly perplexed by the man's allusion to the past. As far as he was concerned, this was their first meeting. Of course, there were times where the soldier's memory didn't serve him quite as well as he might have it wished to, but he was well and truly drawing a blank as the blond shrugged lightheartedly and gestured on ahead of them.

* * *

The pair waded their way away from the beach and up the steep cliff to join the others, being greeted with sudden interest from Bruce.

"Hey, buddy," he lilted, approaching them and reaching out an arm. "Long time no see, huh?"

"Banner," the blond chuckled, wrapping the doctor up in a tight embrace and patting his back fondly. "How's the arm?"

"A little stiff these days, but it's fine. But look at you, you're looking good!"

"Ah, chasing trouble around the galaxy will shift a pound or two, somehow or another."

"I'll take your word for it," Bruce affirmed, leaving his arm draped around the blond's shoulders as Stephen started to corral everybody through another of his portals. "It's good to see you in one piece, Thor."

Bucky stopped in his tracks.

Thor. As in, Norse _god_ Thor.

He had seen some weird shit in his days, between Nazis trying to replicate supersoldiers and robotic limb-stealing sentient raccoons, for sure. But real life walking talking dudes from the pages of fairy tale books for kids or mythological anthologies for historians and those with niche interests?

_What the actual hell?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent like an hour trying to figure out how Stormbreaker works and if it's like Mjolnir, so anybody oblivious like me - it's not a question of worthiness for lifting Stormbreaker since it's not enchanted like the hammer, it's just massively tasking on the body and soul to wield! So it could be moved around and all that sort of shit by somebody who's just very physically strong, but actually using it needs a mighty hand if you catch my drift ;) ;)
> 
> Also I know Bucky has technically fought alongside Thor twice in the movies, but they never actually spoke to one another or interacted with each other at all really onscreen, plus people with PTSD do tend to have memory problems (plus no doubt after all the fuckery inflicted on Bucky's brain, that kind of thing would take a very long time to recover from) so he's gonna,,,, slowly get brought back up to speed
> 
> Probably over explaining myself here, but it'll make more sense as I keep writing, hopefully ✌


	10. Isn't It Ironic?

If you were to think that fitting ten people, three aliens, a raccoon, a seven-feet-tall sentient tree and a god into one lakeside house would be a tight squeeze, you would be thinking correctly. Therefore, Pepper elected to take Morgan to her uncle's for the day, allowing for the Avengers to get their affairs in order in the Stark residence under the condition nothing was broken by the time they came home.

Clint was left in charge of making phone calls to inform any other relevant parties not in attendance of the situation with Loki, one of which phone calls prompted Sam to head out the door to play taxi driver. Rocket, ever the quick witted strategos, had hopped up on the same table from before to pace its length and breadth as he filled in the science-inclined minds in the room on the findings of the guardians on the timeline hopping front. Some interjection on Quill's end about who exactly discovered what and when was met with several invested hushes, and indeed Nebula throwing her dark eyes up to heaven and stalking outside _for some air_ , as she put it.

Mantis seemed to take great interest in the scattering of toys around the living room and porch, her antennae alternating steadily as she crouched among the dolls and studied them. Drax seemed to show little interest, but stood by to let the fascinated insectoid present each toy to him anyway. They were an odd couple by most standards, but seemed very content to just be in one another's presence.

Taking to the small bench out back that must have been a recent addition since the funeral, Bucky stepped up on the seat then perched himself on the edge of the table, letting out a shuddery breath as he shed his leather jacket. He wouldn't have minded being in a small space with such a volume of people any other day given he worked in a damn night club, but he felt… strangely off-put.

All of these people he knew but didn't really _know_ , pottering about with their common purpose regardless of him joining in or not - it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his palms feel slick with sweat. He didn't feel like he belonged, like he had a real reason to really be there among everybody aside from having been asked. The Guardians were an existing unit, obviously, and the Avengers had each other from years of battling it out against the forces of evil together. They all had at least one friendly face to catch out of the corner of their eye and make cozy with, meanwhile Bucky… was just kind of left there.

He gulped against a sudden knot in his throat and averted his eyes, crossing his arms over his stomach as it churned with unease. It didn't help that he hadn't eaten anything for over nine hours and perhaps three times that since he had slept, but there was little to do about that by then. He'd just have to wait it out until some sort of consensus was met between the crowd inside and they started to file out. He could stop in at a Subway on the way home, grab a footlong with meatballs and mushrooms and cheese and…

_Gurgle_

The soldier grimaced as his tummy betrayed him, letting his head loll forward limply with a groan.

"There must be some force of a hivemind in the air," came the same rich voice from down on the beach, startling Bucky as the bench gave a soft creak under a new weight atop it. Thor situated himself beside the brunet with a plate and cutlery in hand, setting them on his lap as he got comfortable. The god grasped the knife and took to cutting what looked like a bean burrito down the middle, Bucky's eyes following the blade as his mouth started to water. Thor must have been reading his mind because his next move was to turn and offer one half to the other man. Blinking in surprise, Bucky gave the blond a questioning look, but was only answered with a more insistent press of the plate his way and a warm smile.

"... thank you," the White Wolf chuffed, timid in his acceptance of the food but soon getting over that as he took his first bite, a moan of approval leaving him at the taste. "Oh _fuck_ , thank you."

"Nothing quite competes with the spoils of somebody else's leftovers, I always say," Thor chimed, visibly amused by how his company seemed to inhale his half of the burrito. As the god also tucked in, the shared entertained moment faded out and a silence took its place. Twiddling his thumbs awkwardly, Bucky eventually couldn't resist sneaking a look the blond's way.

He had a strong profile, the bridge of his nose deep and his bright eyes crinkled at the corners from many years of laughter and merriment. His cheekbones were high and would presumably be sharp and defined if not for the plumpness of the skin that lay on top of them. Bucky wasn't complaining though - the god's huskier appearance overall read as inviting and warm, but decidedly not a force to be messed with lightly. Great mounds of muscle filled out where the softness did not, lending itself to function rather than for flexing or being flashy. Slowly but surely, it was all becoming less foreign and more familiar, the image of flowing locks and lighting bolts growing clearer in Bucky's mind.

It was as the soldier found himself innocently quizzical as to how much give he might be met with should he squeeze Thor's bicep that the blond himself looked his way, a curious look in his eye. An eyebrow raised expectantly, and Bucky stiffened upon realising he must have been staring.

"It's just… weird. Sitting here next to a _god_ , you know?" the White Wolf mumbled, intended as a cover-up but still holding some truth. If he didn't know better, Thor could have passed off as mortal for all other intents and purposes. In all honesty, when Bucky thought of a typical god, his mind sooner went to heavenly entities brandishing glowing armour and standing at twenty feet tall than a beach bum looking guy wearing an oversized hoodie and comfy jeans. But as was becoming a habit, he reminded himself not to judge and simply digressed.

"Ahh," Thor hummed, nodding in understanding. "I have heard that a great deal from my Midgardian companions through the years. I can see where it may be... daunting?"

"Jarring, befuddling, mindfucky? Take your pick, man."

"Yes, indeed," the god chuckled. "I apologise for not introducing myself properly, it slipped my mind that some would not be used to the idea by now."

"No no, it's fine. I have, uh…" Bucky's better judgement kicked in and urged him to hold his tongue while he was ahead. Ever since Wakanda, he had been aware of his trouble retaining information in the long term, but had never exactly spoken openly about it. The words felt awkward in his mouth, embarrassing should they leave it, and so he swallowed them back down. "I suppose everybody was pretty occupied when our paths would have crossed last."

Thor's open expression faltered at that, his eyebrows drawing together as his gaze lowered.

"We all lost much that day," he hummed idly while removing the plate from his lap, placing it on the tabletop behind him. Though the god was quick to dismiss it as he smoothed over his beard, Bucky could pick up on a distinct pain behind his eyes. Every inch of Thor was expressive, whether he particularly noticed it or not, and the soldier couldn't help but feel for him.

Tony's passing was hard on everybody, still sitting heavy on the minds of Avengers, Guardians and apparently gods alike, but Thor was one of the people that had been with him from the start. Natasha too. The original six, Bucky now recalled, were as close knit as anything, even if they didn't always agree or see each other as consistently as regular friendships might have allowed. It's one thing to be far away from somebody, but to know you'll never get to see them again, speak to them again… Bucky knew that feeling all too well.

"Hey," he piped up, reaching over to lightly pat the god's thigh with his flesh and blood arm. Thor flinched, having completely zoned out, but soon settled as he looked Bucky's way. "I think they'd be the last people to want us to dwell."

"You're right," the blond affirmed, clearing his throat before forcing his best attempt at a genuine smile. "Life goes on."

* * *

In an effort to distract from the gloomy elephant in the room - or, well, garden - Bucky had started to ask about Asgard and the many nuances that came with effectively being a Norse myth in the flesh. As Thor started to answer the wide array of questions, his spirits lifted considerably. He spoke of the little fishing village in Norway his people had set up shop at, and of a Valkyrie named Brunnhilde who he entrusted the kingship of his people to as he set out to space with the Guardians. Verbalising a mental note to himself to go and visit her was an interesting spectacle to behold, with how his eyes narrowed and he cocked his head thoughtfully as he muttered for a few moments. Bucky really didn't notice how invested he had gotten until a car pulled up by the front of the house and drew attention to the sun getting lower in the sky.

Thank god, he had the later shift on Sundays.

"You guys kept us waiting long enough," Clint announced as he emerged from the house and scaled the porch, already a few feet away by the time the Falcon climbed out of the car.

"Listen man, there's some mad construction around Brooklyn these days, gimme a break," Sam chided playfully, shoving at the archer's shoulder before approaching the passenger's side.

"Yeah, yeah. Excuses, excuses," Clint sniped back through a chuckle, standing back from the door at the ready to help the other occupant out once the Falcon had the door opened.

Others started to poke their heads outside, seemingly already knowing who was to be arriving and therefore appropriately roused. Thor got to his feet, the memo having passed him by as so he took to trying to see over the small crowd that had gathered.

"You guys… I may be old, but I'm not incompetent yet," came an aged voice from inside of the car. A grey head of hair followed, its owner politely dismissing the hands on standby to assist him into standing, independently doing so slowly but surely. He turned to the group before letting out a pleasantly surprised exclamation, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder for a more emotional support. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Hey, Steve," Bruce beamed, going ahead to greet the retired captain. Rhodey followed suit, the men clustering together to exchange hugs and other pleasantries to start the game of catch up that often comes with three years' separation.

Thor, excited to reconcile with his old friend but still conscious of the fact he _was_ in the middle of a conversation, quickly turned to Bucky with the intent of excusing himself. However, the brunet and the leather jacket previously situated on the bench were nowhere to be seen. Stumped, the god did a full turn scanning around for his new acquaintance, but paused as an engine started to rev over on the other side of the house. Thor, as well as several other spectators, watched in bafflement as a motorbike sped off down the dirt road back towards the city.

The rider's helmet was securely on, but locks of unmistakable brown hair flew out from under it.

"... Well, shit," Sam exclaimed, crossing his hands behind his head and watching as his friend disappeared into the distance with a roar of his engine and the sun setting over the lake.

Well shit, indeed.


	11. Black Hearted Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: References to substance abuse and panic attacks

_Thump thump thump_

Everything went from pitch black to far too bright all too quickly. Accompanied by a shrill ringing, consciousness made a vicious attack on Bucky's retinas and eardrums. He grimaced, a groan attempting to scratch out but coming through disjointed, harsh in his dry throat. His head lolling to the side, he found his chest weighted down as if somebody had stacked a tonne of bricks upon it. His eyes cracked open and struggled to focus on anything aside from the harsh white surrounding him.

A sink slowly came into view. More specifically, his own sink. Though, he didn't remember getting to his bathroom. In fact, to his apartment at all.

As Bucky tried to push himself up onto his elbows, his blood suddenly ran cold, as if thousands of icy needles were all jabbed deep into his skin all at once. He wanted to yelp, but his lungs refused, only able to choke out a rasped breath as his body was overcome with tremours. Forcing his head back up, he peered down his torso.

Though he was fully clothed, he was lying submerged up to his shoulders in water, lengthways in the bath. It may have been warm at some point, but it was freezing cold by the time he had come to and all of his extremities were numb. One case of which was due to the fact that his metal arm was detached, discarded somewhere out of his line of already limited sight.

_Thump thump thump_

His tongue darted out over his lips, finding them cracked and dry. Smacking them weakly at a lack of moisture, Bucky wedged his good arm under himself against the bottom of the tub and wrenched himself into a sitting position. Water rushed off of him and flooded out of his clothes abruptly, his ears starting to ring all over again at the breech in previous silence.

Now able to see over the side of the bath, his stomach dropped. Two 70cl clear glass bottles were laying on their sides a meter or so away, another of the same nature smashed to smithereens and littered across the floor. A quiet burp gargled up from Bucky's stomach, tickling at the back of his throat with sharp alcoholic fingertips. Gin.

He was vaguely aware of the room spinning around him, but was growing increasingly preoccupied with how in the fresh hell he ended up waist deep in an ice cold bath with everything from shoes and socks to a jacket on.

_**Thump. Thump. Thump** _

New point of interest - what in God's name was that noise? It didn't seem to be coming from inside the apartment, too muffled, but it certainly was closeby. It was growing more insistent by the minute, urgent even. How long had it been going on for? It certainly was familiar. A voice now echoed alongside it since the ringing in Bucky's ears decided to cease, equally as vague and indistinct.

Grabbing at the side of the tub, Bucky groaned as he pulled himself to his knees. He was soaked to the skin, his sopping wet clothes making the ascent all the more strenuous. Shedding his jacket, he cursed under his breath at the damage the water might do to the leather, but figured the cause was already a lost one and discarded it into the tub. He grabbed at a towel hanging on the rack on the wall and draped it around his shoulders, getting to his feet and climbing out. His heavy boots told much of the same story and so he kicked them off to deal with later too. The air lapped at his bare arm and sent a brisk shiver throughout him, prompting him to wrap the towel tighter around his torso. By that point, his blood was circulating through his veins better, and the super soldier serum shifted what would have been killer doses of drink for any other man into no more than an irritating headache. He hated it.

**Thump thump thump**

Oh, the door.

With his hair dripping onto his shoulders, Bucky waded out of the bathroom and through his bedroom to the kitchen. Finally reaching the front door, he lifted the latch and pulled it open, peeping out timidly.

"Mother of god, Bucky!" erupted Kandy, or Kain given the lack of an elaborate wig and makeup. The man's face was contorted with exasperation, his hands planted firmly on his hips and his voice missing the note of flamboyance and cheer it usually held. "Do you know how long I've been out here? I tried to call you, like, a million times but your phone went straight to voicemail! Where on this good green Earth have you been? Everybody at the bar has been worried sick, it's not like you to- wait... why are you all wet?"

Bucky grimaced, suddenly very self conscious as he pulled the door fully open. He sniffled and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, unable to meet his boss' eyes.

"I- I don't know, I…" he rasped meekly, forcing his hair out of his face and hating the way a spray of droplets flew out behind him. For the life of him, he couldn't think of an answer. All he remembered was being at the Starks' place, talking to Thor outside when Sam pulled back up the driveway and then… oh, _god_. His heart lurched, coiling up like a spring just waiting for the opportunity to burst through his ribcage and break any surrounding crockery, maybe a few bones. "I'm sorry."

Kain's features softened to a frown, his hands sagging to his sides. The tinted glasses of frustration and professional qualms slowly came off as he realised that the man standing before him wasn't some run of the mill bar hand who wanted a sneaky night off. He saw that instead, he was looking at something much more akin to an injured animal, within an inch of death and mere moments from collapsing on its side and giving up.

"Let's get you back inside," Kain suggested, his tone concerned but cautiously light. The look Bucky gave him was one of startled, though heartbreakingly resigned, disbelief. It was then that the drag artist decided he wouldn't be too hard pressed getting home another hour or two behind schedule. "You like tea, baby? Let me in, I'll make you a tea. In you go, that's it."

* * *

"So, this Steve…" Kain started delicately, laying the string of a herbal tea bag over the lip of the mug he had poured boiling water into on the kitchen counter.

Essense of lavender and chamomile swirled into the air as Bucky entered the kitchen once more, stuffing the empty arm of a new hoodie in on itself before he took a seat at the two-person table. The fabric was first and foremost dry, but also indulgently soft against his skin - a nice sensation to focus on. He had read an article a few months prior about an anxiety technique called ' _grounding_ ', where one identifies certain stimulants in their environment and focuses on them in order to calm down and get their head into a more level state. While Bucky hadn't formally been told he had an anxiety disorder of some description, he did have his suspicions. He had gotten more into his reading as of late, and with the vast array of texts available to him, it was only natural for him to grow curious of certain new terminology he encountered and investigate. And as such, various solutions to the symptoms had crossed his path. He had put many into practice along the way, and found he liked the ones focussing on textures or physical objects best.

"Is he an ex-boyfriend?" Kain asked as he placed the cup in front of Bucky, getting a prompt and definitive shake of the brunet's head ' _No_ '. With a hum, the drag artist slid into the other chair, elbows resting on the edge of the table. "Just an old friend, then?"

A nod.

"How long has it been since you saw him?"

"Three years."

"Did y'all split badly then?"

"... kind of," Bucky croaked, shoulders bunching as he cradled his cup. He wasn't used to being asked so much about a subject so touchy. The quiet sigh that left Kain obviously signified that he was opening up a channel for the soldier to just crack open this can of worms and talk about it, but he didn't know how. The fact that somebody even wanted to know in the first place was already enough to have his heart drumming hard in his temples. He gulped.

"We grew up together. Then served together. Then…" Bucky hesitated, looking to the void of where his left arm should have been. Even in trying to open up, he had to tell half truths and soften the blows of what he had actually been through. It felt wrong, dishonest, but he had to try. "I got into my accident. Things changed."

"... he dropped you because you're an amputee?"

"No. Jesus, no. He was one of the people trying to help me most."

"Ahh," Kain affirmed, settling back into his seat from having risen to his feet, ready to be outraged. "My bad, go on."

"We just… never got things back to the way they were. He'd be by my side screaming his heart out trying to get people to give me a second chance one minute, promising that he'll always have my back, then the next… he's gone."

Pausing for but a breath, Bucky went on.

"I looked out for him for so long, you know? He was this scrawny kid, always one foot in the grave whether it was sun or snow out. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat, but he just… didn't need me anymore. Got all big and strong and suddenly all eyes were on him and I was in the background. Then he met this girl- a real dame. And I was happy for him, don't get me wrong. But I was going through hell and back and he… he didn't see any of it. He just picked _her_."

The words hung heavily in the air. Bucky's chest felt hollow having said them.

But the silence to follow wasn't judging.

Kain was simply looking, quiet reassurance in his eyes as he nodded encouragingly. The soldier took a hurried sip of his tea, his lips quivering faintly as he couldn't hold it back any longer.

"I… don't remember a lot these days. So much of my memory is full of blank spots and questions, y'know? Even things I think I know, they don't feel right. But Steve? Everything felt right about Steve. Even when I didn't remember his name or couldn't recognise his face, I just… always knew he was where home is. So long as I had him, I didn't need anything else. Might have wanted or woulda enjoyed more, but I didn't _need_ it the way I need water or a roof over my head. Steve… my Steve was like that."

A careful hand stretched across the table, resting atop Bucky's own, which he didn't realise had started to shake.

"What happened?" Kain pressed, giving his friend's fingers a gentle squeeze.

"... we got split up. You remember- you remember The Blip? Yeah, I got dusted. We were together. Then, when I came back, he was gone. Some friends filled me in on what happened and we all found each other again, but… Steve was different. And I know five years can be a long time, people grow and change. But I don't… he wasn't…"

"He wasn't _your_ Steve."

"Yeah…" the soldier nodded miserably. He delicately avoided the whole spiel about Thanos and the direct involvement of the Avengers. That would just encourage questions about why exactly Bucky knew Earth's defenders so intimately, and ultimately his identity. But Kain seemed to understand the sentiment, nodding ever wisely.

"How did we get to today, then?"

"So… a mutual friend passed away. After The Blip, that is. And all of our friends were together for the funeral. And at the end, there were a few loose ends that needed tying up. I waited around and figured that maybe when everything was over, we could start fresh. That we'd finally have some peace and quiet together and work things out. But…" Bucky's voice started to waver, his vision clouding with tears he didn't consent to falling. "He went and picked her again."

He had been denying it for months, years even, but now Bucky knew it to be true. There was a space in Steve's life that the White Wolf just couldn't fill, and that space was in the shape of Peggy Carter.

Steve loved her in the way the Earth loves the Sun. That deep, worshipping love and reverence reserved for deities of the sky and supernatural forces like love itself. Even in her absence, he orbited her. He honoured her memory in a compass close to his heart, in how he got back to his feet time and time again and did not what he was told to do, but what he knew to be right.

Maybe that was what he thought he was doing when he went back to the forties and didn't return. That finding Peggy and staying to marry her was what he was meant to do all along, that they were meant for each other. But Bucky couldn't agree.

If you had to abandon everybody in your life in order to get it, he didn't see a point in love. It wasn't love that drove a man to travel back in time and insert himself into whatever life an old flame from his past might have had without him, whatever happiness and success she was destined for under her own steam - it was selfishness. Unreserved, self-serving greed and personal want and a disregard for how that might hurt anybody left in his actions' wake.

And yet, that very admission made Bucky Barnes the biggest hypocrite of the century.

When Steve found out that Bucky was still alive, he did the very same thing. He went against the American government, he went against the Avengers, he went against his closest friends, he went against the _world_ on some slim hope that he could be with Bucky again. And boy, once he had him, he was determined not to let go. Despite all of the horrible things Bucky had done as the Winter Soldier, how much hurt siding with him would cause to Steve's new found family, the Star Spangled Man still picked him. 

That was perhaps what conflicted Bucky the most. He protected Steve with his life on more occasions than he cared to count, and as time went on, that proved to be a mutual sentiment. When Steve went, Bucky followed, and where Bucky pushed away, Steve pulled, hard. They were equal and opposites and they needed each other. And though it made him feel greedy and childish, the thought of somebody else holding that kind of status in Steve's life broke the White Wolf's heart.

Bucky wasn't one to use the word ' _soulmate_ ' lightly, but it was all that came to mind when he thought of Steve. It didn't have to be romantic, or even something admitted out loud, but he could feel it in his bones and he thought for so long that Steve did too.

But how wrong he had been.

Words like that don't get shared between more than one person in your life, and it seemed that Steve had named Peggy his. Whatever Bucky was to the retired captain, it didn't take precedence over the opportunity to go back to the woman he watched die in peace, who he knew had a long fulfilling life but didn't find peace with anyway. Perhaps she was a saint, some cosmic force of good that any man would be a damned fool not to seize any scrapings of a chance to hold onto her forever and bask in her light, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to care. Peggy was the siren that called his best friend into the fog away from his side and he couldn't forgive her for it.

The feelings of abandonment and grief and all of these memories that he had repressed to the back of his brain came flooding back to him like a bulldozer to drywall. It made his vision blur and his head spin.

Finally, the soldier gave in, dropping his face into his propped up his palm. Sporadic hiccups of sobs made his shoulders jump, his body going just as cold as when it had been submerged in the bath but trembling twice as bad.

"He deserves to be happy, but I'm still so fucking angry," he hissed, teeth gritted and jaw clenched. Within an instant, long arms engulfed him, accompanied by Kain shushing him softly. "I'm being such a selfish prick."

"Bucky, you listen to me," Kain commanded, placing an authoritative hand on the back of the brunet's head. "For as long as I've known you, you've been nothing but helpful, kind and honest. You've never had a bad word to say about anybody and I can't even tell you how many people have come into the bar asking for you specifically. Now, I don't know much about this Steve, but I do know that he's a real dumbass for letting a good guy like you go."

"But he's done so much for me, I… I feel like I owe it to him to be at least happy for him."

"So? You can be happy for him and his lil' girlfriend…" the drag artist curved a finger under Bucky's chin, tilting it up to give him a soft smile. "And still be sad for you."

The soldier blinked, feeling tears spilling out over the corners of his eyes. He had been so confused, lost so much sleep over how unfair it was for him to be mad at his friend, and he'd never thought to look at it from a third perspective.

Yes, Steve was entitled to a good life and to be with somebody he loved. Yes, Bucky's role as a friend was to be relieved and excited for Steve for achieving that. But the process of getting there had hurt Bucky, had shoved him so far out of the picture that there really was no coming back from it, and he was entitled to that hurt.

"Don't you ever say sorry for how you feel, you hear me? All you have control over is how you deal with it. It's not right to hold onto the hurt forever and ever, and certainly not to go kicking and screaming at everybody that gets in your way. But you know something?" Kain continued, prompting Bucky to look him in the eyes hopefully. "Somebody did you wrong. That shit hurts. You need to heal from that, but the only way to heal… is to let yourself be in the broken part first. Now c'mere, boo. Let me love on you a little."

* * *

A weight lifted off of the White Wolf's shoulders that night. He still felt like utter shit and his heart ached with the fervency of a wildfire, but he was ready to own it. Pressing his head into Kain's stomach and letting the other man console him, he closed his eyes and let himself cry. A full body, exerting cry that would definitely call for a good lie in the next morning, but one that was without a doubt long overdue.


	12. Everything Counts

Under the advisement of Kain, Bucky arranged for himself to see a therapist.

Nothing too overwhelming to start off with, just meeting up for an hour in a local coffee shop once a week. The therapist, Theresa, was middle-aged and well spoken. She was always concise and to the point, but a very good listener. Specialising with war veterans made her a great deal easier to talk to for Bucky, given that she was a lot less squeamish around mentions of torture and could keep up with the military lingo.

By their third session, Theresa had concluded that Bucky had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He wasn't quite ready to talk about medications or treatments or anything like that, but she had assured him that the diagnosis in and of itself might do him some good. It explained why he got so heightened when people would touch him unexpectedly, why he had essentially blacked out at the sight of Steve, why he would draw a complete blank trying to intentionally remember his life before Hydra but suddenly be hit with memories as clear as day should a stressor or a trigger come up out of the blue.

It made so much sense, now that Bucky had actual words to describe what he was dealing with. Going forward, he agreed to continue to see Theresa, though less frequently and with more focus on coping skills and identifying what set him off the most so that he could avoid it in the best case scenario, or lessen the impact and get himself someplace safe in the worst. She wrote him a doctor's note to hand in to work and a prescription for valium, though Kain was very understanding to begin with and the little pill bottle sat at the back of the medicine cabinet only for dire situations, so they were more of a formality than a necessity. In the same vein, Sam was made aware of Bucky's condition and was more than willing to be put down as an emergency contact.

Though the whole process meant going through some very official and admittedly very scary looking forms and documents, this was a step in the right direction. Not Bucky's own words, but he could only hope that they were as insightful as they sounded leaving his therapist's lips.

* * *

Bucky also invested in a tattoo.

He wasn't by any means ashamed of the fact that he was missing an arm. He was however very self-conscious of how people would stop and stare at his extraneous limb with how perfectly it functioned like an extension of himself despite being made of high polished metal. This was understandable, of course, but strangers tend to get awfully entitled when they see something particularly out of the ordinary. They ask invasive questions and touch of their own volition, something Bucky was dead set on avoiding at all costs for obvious reasons.

The precautionary action he had been taking was to simply wear long sleeved shirts and jackets out in public, but one night at _The Primadonna_ , the heat was getting downright oppressive. There was some event on for college kids with ridiculous discounts on everything from bottled beer to jugs of sangria and so, to keep up with the demand for cocktails, the bartenders had to work at essentially the speed of light. Being super-soldier-serum'd up meant not having a bother on him in the stamina department but, to his dismay, it did not make him exempt from sweating like a whore in church mixing seven vodka martinis a minute. The inability to roll up his shirt sleeves did him no further favours and so action needed to be taken.

Getting a half sleeve on his right shoulder wasn't exactly the most foolproof idea in the world, but it was certainly an inspired one. The more common body modifications floating around were your typical lip piercings here or a mural spanning the length of somebody's thigh there. An entirely metal arm didn't quite fit into the same category, but in theory would be notably less out of place on a muscled and inked up guy working at a gay bar, so Bucky took his chances.

The logic proved itself sound because, the more he started wearing t-shirts and tank tops to work, patrons were intrigued enough by the[ wolf howling at the moon with a panther lurking behind it](https://www.toptrendsguide.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/Wolf-Moon-Tattoo.jpg) on his right bicep to not comment on his vibranium arm.

Now not only was Bucky less prone to smothering behind the bar during peak hours, but his tattoo gave him a new topic to strike up conversations using. Ultimately, a win-win situation.

* * *

The whole _storming home on autopilot to get blackout drunk then sobbing his eyes out_ fiasco had knocked Bucky in more ways than one. One such among which was around his rhythm of living.

Everybody settles into doing things a certain way with the repetitive nature of day to day life. Waking up, going for a run, having breakfast, going to work, coming home, passing out in front of the TV, rinsing and repeating through to the weekend for a little bit of respite then doing it all again on Monday morning.

Like it seemed to always be, the pattern Bucky had gotten comfortable with had been pulled out from under his feet. The visits with Theresa certainly put their own little flavour of structure on the chaos his meltdown had dissolved him into, but to find true stability once more, the White Wolf needed a new way of doing things. He never found reverting to old patterns conducive to progress, it did quite the opposite. Though it didn't always have to be dramatic changes, shaking things up and taking a new stab at normal life was usually his best bet. Which was why, when a burly young woman with coily hair cropped close to her scalp around the back and sides strutted into _The Primadonna_ asking if she could pin a poster for a new gym a few blocks away to the bar's noticeboard, Bucky got to thinking.

As much as he had grown to love his jogs with Sasha, the poor dog was getting old and his joints certainly weren't what they used to be. Giving the pooch a rest was a decision Bucky came to with relative ease, however throwing in the towel on the time spent exercising was not. And so, he took a gander at the advertisement and figured the gym was worth scoping out.

He didn't personally think he needed to do much in the weight loss or muscle training scheme of things - the serum made extreme losses or gains of weight in general much of a rarity - but keeping himself healthily busy stopped his mind from going to a less desirable place. Keeping the allotted time in the morning dedicated to physical activity was a decidedly wise move, and so to learn that they did hot yoga every second morning and had the gym space open from dawn all the others, it was practically a match made in heaven.

* * *

It was as Bucky was wiping sweat off of his forehead one Thursday morning with the front of his T-shirt, nodding a goodbye to one of the lycra-clad middle aged women from his class walking out of the yoga studio, that he paused.

Across the way on the pec deck machine was the rear view of a pair of shoulders, broad as anything. Strong arms were hard at work against the pads and making their owner's shirt stick to his back, dark sweat patches growing with each efforted movement. Understandably, of course, given the massive load of weights the machine's pin was set under, but one way or another. His tank top was loose and had the arm holes cut exceptionally low, for ventilation no doubt but Bucky would swear on sleeves having existed on it once - this burly man had probably flexed them off.

The soldier was ready to be on his merry way having done his dues checking this stranger out, when the guy eased off of the arm pads and leaned forward to take a breather. He swiped his blond hair out of his face, undoing the messy ponytail he had obviously stuffed the rest into earlier to now force any stragglers that had come loose into a new do. Bucky hummed curiously, intrigued by how dextrous the man was even after exerting himself so much.

There was no harm in lingering a moment or two longer to catch a glimpse at the guy's face, right?

How wrong he was, because as the stranger swung his leg over off of the bench to get to his feet and turn around, he revealed himself not to be a stranger at all.

As Thor looked his way, Bucky had already made a dive for the locker rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't quite find the tattoo I was looking for with the panther detail, but the image I included hopefully gives enough of an idea!


	13. A Chance Meeting

Oh _god_ , Bucky was an idiot.

Sure, it was embarrassing to run into somebody who the last they had seen of you was you scittering away on the brink of a panic attack. But to trip over your own feet and nearly knock a bodybuilder off hers trying to run away having seen them?

That was top tier cringeworthy.

Grumbling to himself, Bucky chucked his shirt into his locker and rummaged through his gym bag for a clean pair of underwear and a towel. Shutting it, he stalked towards the showers, picking one of the curtained-off cubicles and stripping the rest of the way down. With his towel on the small rubber hook and his clothes dumped to the side out of the water's range, he fumbled the knob and stood under the showerhead. The water poured down on him in icy rivulets, making him hiss in shock. It progressively heated up, lovingly caressing every inch of the soldier's body until his muscles decided to yield, unwinding.

Within the small cubicle, the enclosed space and soft patter of water reassured Bucky that it was just him and his thoughts. As he grabbed one of the complimentary individually wrapped soaps from a little shelf off to the side and started to rub it into his skin, all of the embarrassment slowly flushed out of his system with the new lather of bubbles, circling down the drain.

He breathed a sigh of relief for now.

Having given his hair a good rinse and rid himself of the sheen of sweat accumulated over the two hours of doing intensive yoga in 92°F heat, Bucky shut off the water and towelled off. No amount of rubbing would stop his hair from dripping, and so he draped the towel around his neck to do damage control while he pulled his fresh briefs on. Stepping out of the steamy cubicle with his old clothes bundled in his arms, Bucky made a beeline for his locker, ducking through half dressed and nearly naked men with his head lowered. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with the public seeing the various scars littered from his left shoulder and halfway across his chest from the wiring embedded into him from the old arm, and so finding his good grey hoodie and pulling it on was his highest priority.

It was as the soldier was stepping into sweatpants that he felt somebody looking at him. Glancing slowly over his shoulder with a frown, his eyes blew wide upon discovering Thor grinning brightly. His hair was pulled back in a loose bun and old sweat made his forehead shine as he entered the changing room.

"Friend Barnes," the god exclaimed, making his way over to the cluster of lockers next to Bucky's. "What a coincidence for us both to be here."

"Yeah… what're the chances?" aforementioned brunet muttered, pursing his lips politely despite his bunched shoulders and downcast eyes reading as anything but comfortable. Pulling his sweats up, he sped through shoving everything back in his bag, not needing the questions about why he had dashed from the Starks' or if he knew Steve had been asking after him or…

"Monumentally low," Thor laughed, acquiring his own towel to hang over his shoulder before leaning against the lockers, facing Bucky fully. "How have you been?"

"... huh?"

"Well, when we spoke last I prattled on about myself for the best part of two hours without thinking to ask of you. I apologise for being so rude."

"No no, it's fine. I did ask. And you're, uhh… a good story teller."

"You flatter me," the god smiled once more, warm like sunshine finally splitting the sky after days of endless rain. "So, how about it?"

"Nothing too exciting happens to me. Sorry to disappoint."

"Nonsense! You ride a- a motorised bicycle and wear armoured hides despite not being at battle. Surely, you're being too modest."

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at the blond. Sure, his bike _was_ pretty cool, but that's generally as far as most folks' consideration for it would have gone. But then again, motorcyclists probably weren't commonplace on Asgard, so the soldier gave a small hum of "If you think so."

"Say," Thor piped up after a moment, sending Bucky a thoughtful look. "I shall be wanting breakfast soon. Do you care to join me?"

"Join you?"

"Yes. We could catch up over our meal, pick up where we left off. Unless you have prior commitments?"

"I mean… I'm sure you want to shower and freshen up for the day. I wouldn't wanna hold you up on account of a bit of gossip."

"You worry too much, Barnes! I can make haste when the mood takes me."

"... And does it?"

"Verily."

"If you insist then, I guess."

"Excellent," Thor beamed, clapping the other man on the shoulder before making for the showers. "I won't keep you waiting too long."

Bucky stood there, transfixed to the spot and blinking dumbly for a long pause. The contact against his shoulder had rang all throughout him, unsettling his core like a cold metal ball suspended in a hot vacuum.

Except, the feeling - usually followed up by an impending sense of doom and a need to curl up with his head in his hands - was simply that.

A feeling.

It shook him up and was uncomfortable, that's for sure. But it came, and then it passed, and Bucky… was okay.

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in his mouth, the White Wolf dug around in his bag for his bottle of water. He glanced around at a loss for what else to do, getting an odd look or two from his fellow changing room users and feeling self conscious all over again. Giving his hair one last ditch effort at patting it dry then stuffing all of his belongings into his bag, Bucky shouldered it and hurriedly shut his locker. Waiting outside sounded like a much better idea than standing around like an idiot.

* * *

Though Bucky really wasn't left waiting very long, his brain was pumping out enough thoughts per minute to make it seem like it had been an eon as he sat on a wooden bench by the vending machines. His leg bounced of its own accord and his hands yearned for something to fidget with, having reached for his keys and started to flick them over his fingers by the ring conjoining them all.

He didn't _have_ to stick around, really. It'd have been just as easy to walk out right then and shrug it off as him forgetting he did have somewhere he needed to be if asked about it later. In fact, a small part of him was itching, aching to do just that. Get up, walk out, drive home, forget about the whole charade and carefully calculate a new gym timetable that didn't coincide with weird space entities with a sudden interest in his wellbeing. Maybe Steve had talked the guy into scoping Bucky out, getting close to him to try and sway him into meeting up to talk, or whatever the hell else time-travelling best-friend-abandoning bastards are interested in.

However, this all didn't ache quite as bad as the part of him, with Theresa's voice no less, that knew that that pattern of thinking was catastrophizing and not at all constructive.

The same part was also very hung up on how he had managed not to dissolve into a puddle of anxious goo having been touched so suddenly. Maybe it was a sign, a sign that he was getting better, that maybe he didn't have so many problems in his head anymore. Or maybe not, given the fact the loud clunk of a dumbell being dropped somewhere deeper into the gym made Bucky's core contort sharply, senses immediately peaked into high alert.

Perhaps he should just shut up and let himself be brought to a friendly breakfast without overthinking it.

Speaking of the devil, Thor emerged from the changing rooms, looking much better pampered now that his face wasn't an exerted pink and his clothes weren't stained with sweat. His gaze wandered, skimming the room before Bucky gave a small raise of his hand, landing on the brunet and smiling contentedly to himself as he walked over.

"Ready?" Bucky intoned, pocketing his keys and getting to his feet. The god nodded his assurance, making a start for the exit knowing the other man would follow. "Anywhere you had in mind to go?"

"Hmm…" Thor considered for a moment, wracking his brain for whatever fine eateries he knew nearby. "I… did not honestly get that far. Is there anywhere you recommend?"

"There's a little diner I go to a lot not too far from here," the White Wolf suggested without really thinking, trailing off. "Emphasis on the _little_ , but…"

"It sounds great," Thor interjected, enthusiastic as always. "Lead the way."


	14. Fruit Pancakes and Hot Cocoa

As the pair walked into the diner - empty for the most part, given how early it was - the young lady at the cash register spotted Bucky right away and greeted him with a warm smile.

"Good morning," she chimed, tucking a notepad into her apron and walking out from behind the counter. "Your usual seat?"

"Please," he responded, following the peacock-green haired waitress to a two person booth next to the window, beckoning Thor to do the same.

"Oh, you haven't brought company before," the girl enthused, offering a hand out to Thor. "I'm Darla, I'll be serving you today."

"Thor," the god greeted. He matched her bright smile while shaking her hand. "I thank you for your hospitality."

"I like him," taking out her notepad and a pen, Darla gave a not-so discreet wiggle of her eyebrow in Bucky's direction, earning a half hearted glare. "Now, can I get you fellas some drinks before you order?"

"Coffee, please," Thor answered with a very assured nod, the suggestive remark seemingly going clear over his head. "As strong as you have it."

"Sure thing. Now, lemme guess," the waitress pondered for a moment before pointing the end of her pen accusatorily at Bucky. "Hot cocoa, large, whipped cream?"

"You can quit acting like you didn't already know, Darla," Bucky sighed, reaching for a menu to busy himself with.

"My Buck here is a creature of habit, alright. Always ordering the same thing, sitting right here," the waitress snirked, winking playfully before scribbling everything down. "I'll bring that out to you in a moment."

"Thank you," Thor beamed as the girl sauntered around the counter once more, turning his attention back to Bucky. "She seems nice."

"When she wants to be," the brunet mumbled, having ducked behind his menu to scope out something new and potentially tasty. Of course, he had planned on ordering the same as he usually did, but now that his habit had been exposed, in front of company no less, he was… admittedly embarrassed to do so. It was stupid to get hung up on, but he didn't need Thor thinking he was some kind of weirdo who hated change. He didn't, he liked change just fine. There were simply… a few moments of indulgence he frequented in order to cope with said change.

Yeah, that was it.

"What will you get?"

"The fruit pancakes sound good."

"Then I shall have them too."

"You sure? There's another menu right here-"

"Rest assured, I trust your judgement."

Bucky frowned at the blond, who simply grinned back. There was quite the extensive list of breakfastables available, brand new to Thor for the most part no doubt, and yet… he wasn't even going to look? It didn't make sense. But Darla was back with two separate mugs and a pot of coffee to leave on the table, so Bucky dismissed the thought. She took their order with only a small jab at the White Wolf's change in preference, leaving them to it as she sent word back to the kitchen.

"So," Thor piped up, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. "How have you been?"

"I told you," Bucky cradled his mug and slouched into the back of his cushioned seat, shrugging. "Nothing exciting happens to me."

"Not one point of interest in… three years?"

"Nope. All very boring."

"Then tell me anyway, our standards of boring may be different."

"... you don't give up, do you?"

"I'm not generally known to, no."

"Fine," the soldier grumbled and sat up straight, to which Thor leaned forward eagerly. "I lived with Sam for a while."

"A fine fellow that Sam, Son of Wil."

"Yeah, he was- still is, a great help. What else? I, uh… I got a job. Met a girl. Lost said girl. Now I have my own place and my _motorised bicycle_ , is that what you called it? And now I'm here."

"I see."

"It's boring, like I told you."

"What do you work as?"

"A bartender. Well, all-round bar hand. I help where I'm needed, do a bit of everything."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"It keeps me busy."

"But do you enjoy it?"

Bucky paused, taken aback by the other man's insistence. "Yeah… yeah, I do."

"Good," Thor hummed, looking pleased as he took a big gulp of his coffee. "It is important to do what makes us feel fulfilled."

Another of Bucky's disgruntled noises was silenced as Darla returned, placing their food in front of them. The pancakes were served in neat stacks, stained red and purple by the berries infused into the batter and topped with generous dollops of golden syrup. Not exactly the pinnacle of a healthy breakfast to follow up a rigorous workout, but the god across the table did not seem to be complaining as he cut into the stack with his knife eagerly, lifting the first little piece to his mouth like a treasure and taking it behind his lips accordingly. His eyes fell shut and he downright moaned, savouring every bite as if it were his last. Bucky couldn't help but watch, half scandalised and half entranced. He had to try for himself, to see what about a five dollar pancake could possibly warrant that kind of reaction.

"I know they're good, but they're not _that_ good," the soldier accused, arching an eyebrow at the raise of Thor's finger he was met with.

"All Midgardian food is good," Thor corrected, muffled from having his mouth full.

"Even anchovies?"

"What's that?"

"Fermented fish, oily as anything and stinks real bad."

"... _most_ Midgardian food is good," the god rephrased, scrunching his nose with an unenthused shiver. Bucky snorted at that, shaking his head down at his lap to hide the amusement that touched the corners of his lips upward.

* * *

They continued eating in relative silence. The strange thing was, however, that it was… almost comfortable.

Bucky stole a few glances Thor's way, watching how his tongue would dart across his upper lip to rescue a stranded blob of syrup or paying attention to how the god's eyes would wander between finished pancake layers. Their mismatched nature was what intrigued Bucky the most, one a brilliant ocean blue while the other stood in contrast with its artificial golden amber tone. The gold one, on Thor's right, sported a deep scar travelling from above his brow to the cusp of his cheekbone - a memento of a great battle, no doubt. It was proud as anything, this scar. And though its owner's resting face was rather intimidating if he stayed stationary for too long, it took away nothing from the inquisitive brightness of the god's expression when he would catch Bucky's stare.

The soldier forced his line of sight elsewhere anytime his curious squinting was copped on to, of course. A perfectly sound explanation was always ready at the tip of his tongue, but strangely never called for. The most questioning he got was in the form of a little hum, the issue signified as being dropped by light scraping of cutlery against porcelain.

Darla eventually returned, asking how the two liked their meal and if they needed anything else. Thor insisted on paying the full bill, doing so with a handful of exclusively two-dollar notes. The White Wolf frowned at this initially, until he spied his companion counting out the bills under his breath and gave a thoughtful cock of his head. Sure, Bucky had seen tourists struggling with the quantitative concept of American currency in passing, but that must have had nothing on learning how to use the money of an entirely different planet. Not to mention a service charge and VAT - Bucky himself struggled with that from time to time.

The pair bid Darla farewell when she started to clear the table, giving a wiggly fingered wave over her shoulder as they made their way outside.

"I enjoyed this," Thor announced, facing Bucky once they were out on the sidewalk. "Thank you for your company."

"And, uhh… thank you for buying me breakfast," shrugged the soldier with his hands in his pockets, lips pursed politely. "You didn't have to do that."

"Nonsense, it was the least I could do."

"No, really. I know my job doesn't sound like a lot, but I do have money."

"If you are so perturbed by my generous act, maybe we should do this again sometime. Try and beat me to it, hmm?"

Bucky paused, frowning to himself. Though as he was about to direct it Thor's way, the god had pulled his bag over his shoulder with the strap across his body and pressed a hand against the brunet's right shoulder.

"Duty calls elsewhere, my friend," Thor sighed contentedly, a sincere smile splitting his face despite the surprises look contorting Bucky's. "But I shall be seeing you."

"... seeing me where?" the soldier called out as the other man started to leave, baffled by how definite his parting statement sounded. There was an almost cheeky look in Thor's eye as he glanced back over his shoulder.

"Around, I suppose. This _New York_ is not so big of a place," the blond shrugged, then finally turned away.

Watching Thor from behind, sauntering down the street without a bother to him in his loose sweats and baggy hoodie, one could almost swear he blended in if they didn't know any better.

Which made it strange that, as he stood there with his skin alight and his posture stiff, Bucky couldn't help but stay locked in on the head of messy blond waves until it was fully engulfed in the crowd, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared in the first place.

The White Wolf swallowed hard, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trekking back to the gym car park to retrieve his bike. The encounter was to be dismissed from his brain for the day, well into the night too.

Especially when he found himself going home from _The Primadonna_ with somebody tall and broad with a tan and a hearty laugh who he didn't ask the name of.

Particularly then.


	15. Flip Phones and Sub Rolls

Meeting up with Thor for breakfast quickly turned into something of a habit.

That is to say, there was never a formally arranged ' _meeting up_ ' - it all kicked off as a mere product of coincidence.

A few days after their first early morning outing, Bucky ducked out of the thick haze of humidity that was the hot yoga studio and stopped in his tracks. Sure as shit, there Thor was, working up a sweat on an elliptical machine next to the front window. Stomach growling as if on cue, the White Wolf levelled himself with a hum before going about his usual routine of showering and getting changed. However, this time around his little foot-in-mouth _fancy seeing you here_ moment with the God of Thunder went smoother, along the lines of ' _Let me return that favour of breakfast_ '.

Bucky wasn't entirely sure where the idea of waiting around to jump straight in and ask Thor to go with him to the diner again came from, but the way the blond's face lit up and the enthusiastic ' _Let me just get changed_ ' he answered with had a funny way of clearing any doubt in the soldier's mind.

This went on for about three weeks; a back and forth dance of trying to be the first to spot the other and volunteering to pay for breakfast. It got to the point that not only was Bucky subconsciously waiting around for Thor after his own sessions in the gym, but he was able to quite easily recall the number of days between when he had seen the god last in order to predict when he might see him next. By the time neither of them had to keep track of who had paid last out loud and simply accepted that each other would remember, the White Wolf realised he genuinely looked forward to seeing Thor in the mornings. They didn't always have a lot to talk about, but that was the thing - they didn't need to spend the whole time talking in order for it to still turn out pleasant.

Bucky hadn't had that in a while, hadn't let himself go there again. It was… nice. Consistent, dependable.

Until Thor got ballsy one day and asked if they could do something else.

"What do you mean?" the White Wolf frowned up at his friend, waiting for the god to decide on which protein bar he wanted from the gym vending machine.

"Well, we always go to the same place," Thor pointed out, grunting quietly as he crouched to retrieve his bar from the dispenser tray.

"Is it a different restaurant you want to try? I hadn't meant to monopolise where we eat at, you could've said something if you didn't like it…"

"I am very fond of our diner, I did not mean it that way," reassurance shone through in the blond's tone effortlessly as he straightened up once more, easing some of the tension Bucky hadn't noticed he was holding in his shoulders. "But I figured a change of scenery might be nice for today."

"Okay… anything particular you had in mind?"

"How about a walk?"

"On an empty stomach?"

"What do you think I have this for?" Thor waggled his protein bar for emphasis before peeling the wrapper, taking a large bite as the pair made for the door.

"I know I'm not exactly the posterboy for self care, but that hardly counts as breakfast," chided Bucky, earning a subtle eye roll but ultimate agreement. He thought for a moment before bumping his shoulder off of Thor's. "C'mon, I know a place. There's a sub shop along the way. We can pick up some sandwiches then eat there."

* * *

Between cyclists shortcutting the road traffic and business people in pencil skirts or slacks taking the scenic route to hold onto the day's last shred of vibrancy before sinking behind their desks in offices until dusk, Washington Square Park was slowly waking up with the Wednesday morning work rush. With their respective sub rolls tucked under their arms, Thor and Bucky sat at the edge of the decorative fountain facing the same namesake arch. Streams of peachy pink light spilled out over the cityscape, caressing the intricate marble carvings of the arch and illuminating all that stood before it. Paired with the dottings of orange leaves emerging among the lush surrounding canopy and a slight crispness to the air, it felt like a scene straight out of a movie.

To Bucky anyway, or at the very least to the lingering streak of a romantic that still rattled around in his chest from time to time.

"I've gotta hand it to you," he spoke up, placing the remaining half of his sub back on the greaseproof paper it came in that he'd spread across his thighs, before sucking a blob of mayo off the pad of his metal thumb. "This was a nice idea."

"I’m full of nice ideas,” Thor stated through a final mouthful of bread and salad, looking quite satisfied with himself as he dusted any remaining crumbs from his person. Bucky bit back a smile, settling for a lighthearted scoff as he wrapped his sandwich back up. It could live in his bag until he wanted to finish it later.

"I had meant to ask," Bucky hummed thoughtfully, making Thor quirk an eyebrow at him. "How is the _time heist part two_ going?"

"Ahh. A most interesting question indeed," the god mused, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat. The other man leaned forward eagerly, eye contact being held dramatically. "A most interesting question… that I do not have the equally interesting answer to."

"... Come again?"

"Genuinely."

"But… isn't this you guys' whole thing? Came back to Earth to try and resolve that Loki guy situation?"

"Yes."

"So, what gives? Am I not allowed know?"

"I'm sure you, and the other Avengers for that matter, will be given news when there is adequate news to give."

"Is this some kind of riddle I'm supposed to figure out?"

"No," Thor laughed then, shaking his head. "It's a roundabout way of saying I'm not so involved as to know myself."

"... well, you could have started with that."

"Sorry, my friend," the blond apologised, raising his fist with the intent of bumping Bucky's nearest shoulder with it. He paused however as the soldier's frame locked minutely, evidently a subconscious response as his face was unchanged and something that made Thor reconsider. He settled for a light tap on the brunet's knee instead. "Banner and the Rabbit are hard at work devising ways to track Loki's whereabouts and figure out where he may go next. I offer my help wherever I can, of course, but there is not much more I can do as far as technology and… science things go."

"So what have you been doing all this time?" Bucky asked bluntly, eyebrows tipped into a frown more out of curiosity than probing malice. The god gave him a confused look nonetheless.

"I've been with you, haven't I?"

"... fuck, I didn't mean-" the soldier flustered, neck craning back so abruptly he very well may have given himself whiplash. "That came off really rude. I meant, when you're not working with the others. You've hardly just been gym-ing it out twenty-four seven since you guys got here."

"... you have a very odd way of making small talk," Thor remarked thoughtfully, still a little off-put but overall seeming amused. Bucky could feel the tips of his ears burning at his lapse in social tact, cursing himself inwardly for it as the blond started recalling the various activities he had taken up. The way he spoke about them was almost comical, describing mundane human tasks with the fascination one would expect from a big headed green alien, drawing Bucky's focus away from his blunder.

He learned that Thor had set himself up with a gaming console to keep in contact with some old friends - Korg and Miek were their names. Bucky couldn't contribute much on the topic as he hadn't been exposed to video games yet, but this was no issue apparently because the god simply assured him that maybe one day he could show him. Going on to talk about Korg and Miek living in New Asgard, the Valkyrie named Brunnhilde sprang to mind and Thor remarked on wanting to see her soon. Bucky suggested inviting her to New York, given it couldn't kill her to leave her kingly duties for _a_ weekend. This idea greatly amused Thor, honest consideration on his face as he smoothed his beard and fleshed out how and when he might ask her.

Thor had also taken up baking, it turned out. Pepper had pulled some strings with a property she and Tony had bought and managed to accommodate the Guardians for their stay on Earth. And so, in his own little apartment, Thor was making mainly breads and pies to get the basics nailed down before getting too adventurous. But nonetheless, the image of the god in a little apron with his hair tied back in a bun made Bucky smile, his chest warming at the idea of a few loose strands of blond falling into mismatched eyes while strong arms kneaded flour and butter into a pliant dough. As Thor explained that he was growing very fond of sticking the TV on in the background when he baked and the soldier was about to ask him what he liked to watch, a chime came from the god's bag.

Caught by surprise, he rummaged around to produce a flip phone, the type you'd give your grandfather that only calls and texts and won't break even if you drop it from a twelve storey building.

"Ahh, we stayed here longer than I realised," Thor sighed, sounding disappointed. "I had promised Bruce I'd give counsel to his latest chunk of work, I should go."

"Oh," the soldier blinked, tense as he readied an apology. "I didn't mean to keep you-"

"It is alright," Thor assured, offering a warm smile. "Your company is worth being late for."

Bucky felt his gut twist in on itself, averting his gaze as the god quickly texted something back to Bruce and got to his feet.

"Is there a way I can contact you?" Thor asked, shouldering his bag. Nodding, Bucky held his hand out for the other man's phone, taking it to punch his number in as a contact.

"Running into me at the gym not enough for you, huh?" the soldier joked timidly, handing the phone back with a weak smirk.

"Well, this way it can be intentional instead of by chance, hm?"

"Right…"

"So long, Bucky."

Waving Thor off, Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. To ease his nerves or to restrain the smile that wanted to split his face in half was anybody's guess, but the knowledge that the God of Thunder liked being around him and seemingly wanted to see more of him - jumpy reflexes and abrupt questions and all - tipped the scales significantly towards the latter.


	16. No Rest for the Wicked

The days grew shorter and the nights invaded the sky with their dark hues much earlier.

Bucky never had a particular dislike of the winter months but, given his line of work, they brought with them very strenuous shifts. College students drinking up time with their friends before having to lug home for the holidays, work colleagues trekking out into the night ahead of the Christmas rush; every shade passed through _The Primadonna_ , just as rowdy and paying twice as much as the rest.

Bucky could handle it of course - he had done it twice before at that stage - but the physical exertion wasn't something he remembered with any special fondness. In early and out late, he practically lived in the bar from one end of October to the other of December. While everybody behind the bar shared a similar companionable distaste for it, the sacrifices that had to be made were hard to look at in a worthwhile light when payday was two weeks away.

As the soldier tipped the last handful of chopped vegetables into a pan of stir fry, his back pocket vibrated. Wiping his hands on the tea towel thrown over his shoulder and turning down the heat to let his dinner simmer, he fished out his phone and tapped the bright notification. Emblazoned in bold letter across the screen, he read;

**Dearest Barnes,  
I hope this message finds you in good health.  
Your absence at the gym as of late struck me and I wished to ask after your wellbeing.  
Yours Faithfully,  
Thor.**   
_Received from UNKNOWN 6:30PM_

Bucky snorted in bemusement, tugging the towel from his shoulder and typing out his reply.

**Hey  
Work has been kicking my ass so going to the gym got bumped off my list of priorities  
Still alive**   
_Sent 6:33PM_

The brunet paused a moment, smiling to himself as he punched in a quick " **Forever Yours, Bucky** " at the end before going back to stirring his dinner.

**Your aliveness is most pleasing to hear of. I feared the worst before rationality could shine through.  
Yours Faithfully,  
Thor.**   
_Received from UNKNOWN 6:36PM_

**Miss me that much already?**   
_Sent 6:39PM_

**I thought you might have figured I am as much a creature of habit as you are by now.  
Yours Faithfully,  
Thor.**   
_Received from UNKNOWN 6:42PM_

**Sounds like something somebody who misses their breakfast buddy would say**   
_Sent 6:45PM_

**A fair point.  
Yes, I miss you.  
Yours Faithfully,  
Thor.**   
_Received from UNKNOWN 6:48PM_

In spite of being the one to instigate the teasing, Bucky had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop his heart from getting too happy at the idea of Thor poking his head up from his workout every once in a while to peep around for him. They were friends, friends looked out for each other - it couldn't be more than that.

Quickly tossing noodles into the pan, the soldier continued.

**It slipped my mind to ask for your number when I gave you mine  
Sorry I didn't give you a head's up**   
_Sent 6:57PM_

**No matter; it is settled now.  
Will I be seeing you again soon?  
Yours Faithfully,  
Thor.**   
_Received from UNKNOWN 6:59PM_

**I'm on a 48 hour week until further notice and need the rest time in between  
So I can't confidently say**   
_Sent 7:02PM_

Bucky made a point of adding the new number as a contact before going about plating his dinner. But there was a pause in Thor's replies then, and the soldier's chest suddenly felt very heavy as he slid into his seat at the kitchen table. Thor was probably going to think he was too much hard work, that keeping up with such an unreliable timetable was more effort than it was worth, and-

**That is unfortunate.  
Let me know if you find yourself with free time, perhaps we could do lunch?**   
_Received from THOR 7:15PM_

Bucky let go of the breath he was holding, stabbing a fork into his noodles as he typed back one handedly.

**You'll be the first to know when I do  
I promise**   
_Sent 7:17PM_

**Great.  
I must go, there are errands to run.  
Until then, Bucky.  
Your's Faithfully,  
Thor.**   
_Received from THOR 7:19PM_

**See you soon**   
_Sent 7:20PM_

**Oh, one thing**   
_Sent 7:22PM_

**Yes?  
Yours Faithfully,  
Thor**   
_Received from THOR 7:23PM_

**You don't have to sign every text like a letter  
Seems like a lot of unnecessary typing when I already know who I'm talking to**   
_Sent 7:25PM_

**Duly noted**   
_Received from THOR 7:26PM_

**Thor**   
_Received from THOR 7:27PM_

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head incredulously at the god's peculiar ways as he tucked into his stir fry.

* * *

If Bucky never had to mix another cocktail in his life, it would still be too soon.

It was nearing 1AM on a Friday night and the numbers were slowly levelling out, people no longer pouring into _The Primadonna_ in their throngs and more drinking into their peaks to dance for an hour or two then head home. Of course, staying busy was more preferable than dicking around with nothing to do, but at the expense of no elbow room behind the bar and the impersonal demanding attitude from non-regulars looking to get drunk quickly to move on to the next bar, Bucky had his reservations. The once intriguing upbeat music had melded into a dull throb assaulting Bucky's eardrums, knotting his eyebrows into a preoccupied frown as he tried his level best to filter out everything except drink orders and price lists. Going on autopilot wasn't exactly as effective of a tactic to get extra tips as batting his eyelashes and laughing at customers' bad jokes, but he wasn't in desperate need of the money - he could leave that to the other younger bartenders for the time being.

It was as Kandy had ducked in to remind Bucky that getting some solid food into his system would be a wise move and that he should take a half hour break that the momentum shifted.

"Bear alert on your six o'clock," the drag queen whistled, inclining her pink wig adorned head towards the entrance while Bucky slid out from behind the bar and let her take his place. "Looks like your type."

"Not interested," Bucky sighed with disinterest, groping his jacket's pockets for his wallet and phone before slinging it over his shoulder. He was tired; frankly, getting his blood sugar up took precedence over getting his dick up.

"You sure? It's not every day a jacked viking strolls on in here, I know you like a bit of something something to grab on to," Kandy added. The soldier was still caught at the word _viking_ as Kandy looked aforementioned specimen up and down, his head snapping in that direction as his boss hummed her approval.

Bucky would be lying if he were to try and pass off the silent prayer he said in the back of his mind for it not to be who he thought it would, for the Scandanavian look to just be a happy coincidence and going off on his food break without a care in the world.

But of course, the universe had other plans.

Namely to plonk Thor in the doorway of _The Primadonna_ looking around like a lost puppy.

"Oh, fuck me," ducking to run a hand through his hair and straighten out his T-shirt, Bucky made every effort to look anywhere except the blond.

"What's the matter? Is my Buckaroo's-down-to-screw intuition that good?" Kandy guffawed, hip cocked to the side as she vigorously shook a cocktail maker. The soldier shot her a disconcerted look, already feeling his ears burning at the very suggestion. In the time it took him to suss out the most discreet route through the bustling crowd to the stage area to the safety of the backroom, a warm exclamation of his name had already forced its way through his ribcage and very nearly made his knees buckle.

"Barnes! I was hoping to find you here!" Thor beamed, trotting over with his hands raised. Donning a red and black flannel fashionably layered open over a grey vest and straight leg denim jeans, the god stood before the soldier in stark contrast to the sweatpants and pullovers his ventures to the gym usually called for.

"Yeah, well… this'd be the place to find me, I guess," Bucky chuckled nervously, scratching at the back of his neck as his mouth went dry. Saying that Thor looked good would be an understatement. A vast one. "What with… me working here…"

"Ahh! The job that has been kicking your ass!"

"Talking shit, were you, Bucky?" Kandy scowled, making the soldier cringe.

"Was there something you came for?" Bucky interjected, desperately trying to change the subject as he still didn't quite meet Thor's eyes.

"Hm? Oh, yes," the god came back to himself, looking around before hooking an arm around the shoulders of a woman a few paces away and dragging her over. "Bucky, this is Brunnhilde."

"Everybody calls me Valkyrie, you might as well too," the woman, a good two heads shorter than Thor, added with a curt nod and her hands on her hips. Despite her short stature and elaborately braided hair, her presence was commanding and her expression judging. Fitting of a godly king.

"Nice to meet you," the soldier tipped his head appropriately. "I'm Bucky."

"Yes, I've heard a lot about you," she smirked jauntily, elbowing Thor in the ribs as if there was some in joke between them.

"Drinks!" the god laughed through his teeth, tightening around Brunnhilde until she swatted viciously at him. "How about some drinks?"

"... well, this is gonna be a night. If you'll excuse us a moment, we'll get right on that," concluded Kandy, popping her tongue high spiritedly as she grabbed Bucky by the belt and pulled him back behind the bar with her despite his yelp of complaint.

It certainly was going to be a night.


	17. Under Any Other Circumstances

"This is either really good or really bad," Kandy hummed, wringing her hands before passing Bucky a clean cocktail shaker. "Whiskey sour for the butch one."

"Dragging me behind the bar like a lunatic tiger mom? Yeah, that only has downsides in my humble opinion." The soldier maintained a begrudging look his boss' way as he set about grabbing various bottles and a carton of egg whites.

"You two know each other," she pressed on, ignoring him. "Is he an ex? Do I have to rough him up?"

"Jesus, no. He's… a friend from out of town."

"A prospective _lay_ friend?"

"Not everything is about sex in my life, you do know that?"

"Maybe, but it is a fun add-on." Wiping down a pint glass before setting it under a lager tap, Kandy leaned against the bar to face her underling. "He seems interested. Swoocing over all happy like that."

"I'm gonna have to disagree."

"Oh, c'mon. I know we're among the most extra of gays but, even then, eyes don't light up like that for everybody."

"He's just like that. It's nothing."

"Pulling up to a gay club and knowing you by last name? I didn't even know your last name and I've worked with you for three years."

"Look," Bucky groaned, shaking all the ingredients in his cocktail shaker with unnecessary force. "He probably doesn't know what any of this shit is. Even less so me being into guys. He's probably not into guys himself, for that matter."

"Would it change things if he was?"

"Kandy. He is just a friend. It's all a big coincidence and that's it. End of."

"Fine," the drag artist huffed with a roll of her eyes, shutting the tap off as the other man poured the cocktail into a fresh glass. "Bring these to them and go on your break. I won't meddle."

"Do you promise?"

"Scout's honour, babe."

"Thank you." Bucky gave a sarcastic smile before grabbing both drinks and shuffling out from behind the bar. Rolling his shoulders, he left Kandy and trekked out into the crowd.

It took some efforted rising on his toes to peer around, but he eventually spotted Thor and the Valkyrie huddled off to the side leaning on a small table with tall legs. They looked to be deep in conversation but, as the woman noticed Bucky, she straightened up with a smirk.

"One whiskey sour and a beer," the soldier announced as he placed aforementioned beverages on the table before the pair, wiping condensation off of his hands on his jeans.

"These look good," she hummed pleasantly, bringing the cocktail up to her nose to give it a quick smell. Taking a sip, she nodded as if confirming to herself. "Yep, this'll do."

"One of my specials."

"Thank you, Bucky," Thor chimed, regarding the soldier with a warm crinkle-eyed look. Resting his hands in his back pockets with a polite purse of his lips, Bucky lowered his gaze and scuffed at a spot on the floor with his boot.

"Is there, uhh… anything else I can do for you guys?"

"I'm sure some among us could think of a few things," Brunnhilde considered, ignoring the warning expression now being shot her way over a beer glass across the table. "But you're probably very busy."

"I needa grab a bite to eat now, but not for the forty minutes afterwards, at least."

A glint of mischief rose in the woman's eye then.

"Why not come back to us, so?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose on your evening," Bucky frowned, looking between the pair. Thor seemed to be about to speak, but was quickly cut across.

"Hardly! This oaf wouldn't pipe down about you until I agreed to come here and meet you for myself, might as well help me get my time's worth."

"... cool, cool," the soldier gulped, shoulders drawn tightly as a pang of heat seared through his chest. He turned on his heel before either of them could see the blood rushing to his cheeks, giving a small salute over his shoulder. "See you guys in a bit, then."

"Bye-bye," the Valkyrie grinned deviously as he sped away, wiggling her fingers in a provocative wave before meeting the eyes of a less than pleased Thor. "He's cute."

"Why did you have to embarrass me like that?" Deflating on the spot, frustration was written all over the god's face.

"What? I didn't say anything that wasn't true. You _do_ talk about him non-stop."

"Sure, but… you know... _he_ didn't necessarily need to know that."

"I've never known the God of Thunder to be so shy about things he wants." Putting on a bad nasally impression of Thor's voice, she pressed on, driving a fist against the table. " _Another mead! Next Fortnite match!_ "

"This is clearly different."

"Mmh, if you say so," Brunnhilde shrugged, tipping her drink back.

Thor sighed inflectively, resting heavily on his elbows.

His friend was right, he wasn't generally… subtle when it came to objects of his affections. But then again, none of them before had been Bucky Barnes. The soldier wasn't a man of exuberant amounts of words, nor was he the most expressive of beasts. There were, of course, certain nuances that the god had picked up on; jumpiness at being touched too suddenly or on the wrong body part, discomfort when it came to talking about himself for long periods of time, a liking for textured objects to hold on to. He didn't seem very keen on holding eye contact for very long either, but Thor was attracted to him no less. The closed off nature was something that often turned the god off in partners, though when it came to Bucky, Thor merely found himself intrigued. It was a polar opposite to the openhearted way in which Thor liked to carry himself, but he could understand why the other man might not be able to go there. He didn't know much about it, but he suspected there was more to Bucky's past than a light bout of mind control and a spa day in Africa.

Thor felt slightly guilty about having asked Sam where Bucky worked. Maybe the soldier didn't want to see him, and this was a hindrance on his already heavy workload. Thor just… couldn't bring himself to stay away. He worried about Bucky, regardless of how brief their acquaintanceship had been.

Caring for the people close to him ran deep in Thor's veins, one of the most dear traits he inherited from his mother, Frigga.

"You look a million miles away over there," pointed out Brunnhilde, tracing the rim of her empty glass with her middle finger. "Barely touched your beer. You're not nervous, are you?"

"No thanks to you."

"I really don't think you need to get so psyched out about this. If he's anything like how you've been describing him, even if he doesn't feel for you romantically, he's hardly going to stop speaking to you."

Wetting his lips, Thor held a note in the back of his throat. Credit where credit was due, he did feel an inherent kindness from the White Wolf. If he were to be turned down, the affair would likely be upfront and concise, with reassurance that Thor hadn't lost any of Bucky's respect. Be that out of sincere friendship or too much politeness to tell the God of Thunder to take a hike, he wasn't sure.

Either way, disgust or all-out dismissal wouldn't be on the table - if the Valkyrie's words help true, Thor was confident that Bucky wasn't like that.

"Gotta run to the ladies' room. Or find it first, at least," Brunnhilde announced as she set down her glass, gesturing vaguely away from the table. "I won't be long."

"Try not to get lost," humouring her with a thumbs up, Thor chuckled.

He spent the next few minutes leisuring over his drink, his nerves slowly settling while he watched the other inhabitants of the bar mingle. They all seemed so happy and carefree, unlike many of the other Midgardians he had met. Always busy with one worry or another, hurrying about to fit all of their mundane day to day tasks into their short mortal lives. It was places like this that seemed to put them under some sort of spell, forgetting it all for a few hours and simply living. It was oddly endearing to see the transformation in real time as men and women sauntered inside _The Primadonna_ and shed their jackets and frown lines, getting swept up in a wave of dancers and merrymakers and riding it out contentedly.

"Sorry that took a little longer than expected, we had a wig malfunction backstage," came a familiar voice, evidencing itself to be Bucky's as he jogged towards the table, a glass bottle in hand.

"No matter. Is the situation resolved now?"

"Ahh, nothing a few bobby pins and hairspray couldn't fix. Where's your friend?"

"An excellent question. She went looking for the, uhm…" Thor started as he scanned the room, but ultimately trailed off as his eyes settled on Brunnhilde. Her arm was around the waist of a young lady with fiery red hair and batting eyelashes, the pair looking deep in flirtatious conversation. "Well, whatever it was, I presume she found it."

"Impressive," the brunet chuffed, placing down his drink - a small beer - on the table before sidling in on the opposite side to Thor.

Maybe not the circumstances Thor had anticipated his companionship with Bucky for the night to play out under, but there was no looking back at that point.


	18. Slowly Getting There

If anybody else had stood on the other side of the table, Thor could have talked their ear off for the night without so much as a second thought. But as Bucky tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and brought the brown bottle to his lips, the god's vocabulary was suddenly away with the faeries. To keep from staring at the jaunty bob of the other man's adam's apple as he tipped his head back and drank, the blond cleared his throat.

"Your hair is longer than when I saw it last," Thor commented oh-so intelligently.

"So's yours," Bucky, wiping the corner of his mouth with the butt of his hand, pointed out.

"Funny how it grows like that, isn't it?"

"Yeah," the soldier shrugged, eyes lowered as he sucked his tongue across his teeth. "Funny."

He hated small talk.

Thor knew this. Yet he had initiated it anyway.

Quite intelligently.

"I can see the appeal of this place." A safer bet on the blond's part.

Bucky's eyebrows were roused to attention then. "You can?"

"Yes, very colourful. A welcoming body of staff too."

"S'more or less my second home at this stage."

"Because of the long shifts?"

"No, it's… kind of a big family in here. They get it without asking too many questions."

"Discretion," Thor nodded sagely, earning a more eased hum of approval.

"That's you with the gym, I imagine?"

"You could say so." The blond paused a moment, considering talking about the various fitness people he had made acquaintance with in Bucky's absence. However, Thor more often than not ended up talking about himself when he and the White Wolf came together, at the behest of Bucky's directing of the conversation. Falling into that pattern forever wouldn't do. "But you know that already."

"... so?"

"I don't know very much about what you do here."

"A bartender on Earth isn't gonna be much different to one on Asgard. It's a bartender"

"I can assure you, an Asgardian barkeep would be lost at sea with that many implements and tools to produce the one drink."

Bucky cocked his head, eyes narrowed skeptically. A surrenderous raise of Thor's hands unknitted the soldier's brow, a more thoughtful crease settling into it. "What do you want to know?"

"Did you have to train much for your chosen profession?"

"Not a lot, I did this before as a kid. There's new names and more choices for people, but shaking jars and not spilling things sort of stays with you."

"Like riding a bike, as the saying goes?"

"Yeah… a bit like riding a bike." The soldier's lips touched upwards at the corners, the softest whisper of a smile reaching his eyes despite his habit of diverting them.

It was breathtaking.

* * *

In the space of two and a half hours, Thor managed to learn more about Bucky than he had in the entire previous duration of their friendship.

Bucky explained every intricacy of mixing the perfect drink and the importance of giving a customer the full experience of _The Primadonna_ 's hospitality. It was fascinating how much thought went into each flourish of the wrist, every coy smile across the counter. The Midgardian bartender was so much more than a middleman between a person and their getting intoxicated - he was as much of an entertainer as the performers going up on stage across the venue with their intricate wigs and vibrant makeup.

With a bit of deliberate coaxing and tactfully oblivious questions on Thor's part, the soldier also told of how he had gotten his hands on a vintage motorcycle, with every intent of restoring it once the holiday rush had passed. As he held his phone out across the table and flicked through photos, Thor couldn't stifle the intrigued grin that spread across his face.

He didn't know much about Midgardian vehicles, but the beaten up frame he was being shown hardly qualified as much more than a hunk of old metal and a back wheel. It was the quiet passion that licked the ends of Bucky's words that actually sold the god on the idea, strengthening the accent Thor came to recognise as Brooklynian and lighting up the man's usually harsh and cautious eyes. Rather than scitter about looking for the nearest exist or scowl at the floor, Bucky's steely blues slid from the screen to hold Thor's gaze.

As a quiet fell over them, Thor let his head tilt gently to the side. Scanning the features of the other man's face, he did little to fight off a contented sigh, dazzled by the depth the brunet so frequently hid away from the world behind his hair and downturned looks. Tiny flourishes of pink claimed the apples of Bucky's cheeks, the muscles swollen from lack of previous use and by Odin, if Thor didn't want to trace them with his thumbs before, he surely did then. He was surprised to find the soldier's eyes flicking downward a fraction, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips so quick Thor wouldn't have noticed if he weren't looking so intently too.

"Evening, Bucky," came a new voice, startling the both of them. A short woman with shoulder length hair split down the middle to separate a black half and a dyed bubblegum pink other half passed the table, shaking her keys at the White Wolf in a wave.

"Chet? I thought you were off tonight?" Bucky frowned, twisting to follow her trek behind the bar.

"Kandy said you weren't feeling too good and needed the rest of the shift off," the girl explained with a sympathetic pout, wrangling her arms out of her denim jacket. "I told you pushing yourself so hard would catch up to you eventually. You can head home now if you like."

"... right." A sour look screwed up the features Thor had been so diligently trying to disarm, the soldier training in on his boss across the bar with distaste. The drag artist simply batted her eyelashes and shrugged in feigned innocence, doing little to unclench Bucky's fists.

"Perhaps your colleague is right," Thor suggested, bumping his hand lightly against the skin of his friend's right one. "I kept you longer than your break should have allowed. And you look like you haven't been resting well lately."

Bucky whipped back around, staring down at the physical contact. Not with the offense in his eyes that many other unexpected gestures has elicited before - they instead held a note of plain surprise, looking at their two hands for a long moment as if considering something. That thing evidenced itself as Bucky gave a light nudge in response, drawing back to himself right after with a small mutter of "Yeah, I guess not..."

Thor lit up then, respectfully pulling his hands to his half of the table as he spoke. "Are you living far from here? I could walk you home."

"What about Valkyrie?"

"I'm sure she can find a bed to go to that's not dependant on my waiting for her."

Snorting softly as he glanced the aforementioned woman's way and found her in close quarters on the dancefloor with the same redhead from before, Bucky scratched at the back of his neck. "It's a bit of a drive actually, but I appreciate the offer."

"Ahh, no matter then," Thor hummed, masking the disappointment in his tone as best he could.

"But maybe… we could do this again? On purpose, I mean."

The brunet was looking at Thor through his eyelashes, a timidness to the way he worried his bottom lip that sent the god's heart into a series of somersaults in his chest.

"I would like that. Very much."

"Are you free on Tuesday?"

"Yes," Thor smiled warmly. A definitive date - that was certainly new. "Does a particular time suit you?"

"Let's say seven. I can meet you outside and find us a better table."

"Let's. Now get yourself home and rest. I'll see what I can do about prying Brunnhilde away from her lady friend."

A genuine chuckle rose from Bucky's chest, his eyes crinkling behind the thin veil of hair that fell into his face once more as he shrugged into his jacket. "Roger that."

As Bucky stepped out from behind the table, Thor stood up straight to bid him a farewell. Holding out a fist felt appropriately informal, feeling all the more appropriate with the amused look that remained on the White Wolf's face when he gently tapped his knuckles against Thor's in passing.

Eye contact was held until both parties had left each other's peripheral version. A small gesture, but somehow it held enough weight to knock all of the air out of the God of Thunder's lungs once it broke.


	19. This is the Rhythm of the Night

Tuesday came and the soldier was in livelier humour, being out of work mode.

To test the waters, Bucky had intentionally invited Thor to a night with one of _The Primadonna_ 's drag shows. And as it turned out, the god had an absolute ball.

While the music was foreign to him and many of the pop culture references the performers on stage made use of flew over his head, Thor was full of whoops and hollers and good natured laughter as queens lip synced and kings burlesqued, completely enthralled as each took to the stage and strutted their stuff. Watching the blond lean forward with an eager grin as a new act would start, Bucky breathed a sigh of relief - Thor was having fun and he had nothing to worry about.

A habit was then made of the god coming to visit _The Primadonna_ , either by Bucky's invitation or otherwise. Thor got comfortable enough to navigate the bar by himself when his friend was tied up with orders, making acquaintance with other regulars and members of the floor staff. It didn't take long for his charming smile and tight hugs to become famed and sought after - it seemed to be a more openly affectionate environment than other Midgardian social spaces, and that suited Thor just fine. On a few occasions, hands got a bit overenthusiastic or a comment made the blond's way would be very explicit in its pointedness, but it simmered down very fast once Thor's habit of pursing his lips and looking longingly towards the bar area was picked up on.

The message was unspoken, but universally understood.

* * *

"Coney Island?" Bucky repeated the words Thor had suggested over the phone. He let the towel he had been drying his hair with slump over the back of a nearby chair, blinking plainly in surprise.

"Midgardians come together with close companions at this time of year, don't they? I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with your boss some nights ago. Our friendship means much to me, and so I don't wish you to be alone during the holiday season." There was a hesitant pause to the god's words then. "Unless you don't like the idea."

"No no," Bucky blurted out a bit too quickly. He clicked his tongue before placing his metal palm to the countertop and hopping up, sitting on the edge to stop from pacing his kitchen. "It sounds like a lovely idea."

"Are you sure? I hope you don't think I was eavesdropping on purpose."

"I don't," the soldier reassured, balancing his phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he pulled a pair of socks on despite his feet still being damp. "Kandy talks pretty loud at the best of times."

"A fair observation," Thor chuckled, the smooth sound making Bucky bite his lip to keep from smiling. "You haven't made other engagements since then?"

"Sam and I usually do Christmas Eve dinner, but he won't be too mad if we make it a later arrangement."

"I don't want to intrude-"

"Thor." The name felt like warm butter in the White Wolf's mouth, a fond scratch to his voice as he silenced the myriad of concerned double-checking he knew was to come. "It's fine. I'd like to go with you."

It may have been the receiver playing tricks on him, but Bucky could have sworn he heard a staggered breath of relief on the other end of the line.

"Will we meet there?"

"Might be best. Six-thirty?"

"Sharp."

Bucky grinned down at his lap in spite of himself. "Yessir."

"Good. I look forward to seeing you."

"Likewise. Goodnight, Thor."

"Goodnight, Bucky."

* * *

The happy cries of children filled the air as rides with flashing lights and upbeat music spun round and round. A sticky sweet smell hung thickly all around, apples being dipped in warm caramel and hot chocolate being poured at every corner. All was contently electric inside the theme park, oddly peaceful in the merry din of families out together for the holidays.

Naturally, Thor knew about Christmas and how it was a festival of sorts for the Midgardians, but had never celebrated it himself. Thinking back, the opportunity never arose to do so when he and Jane were still an item, clashing intergalactic timetables and things like that. Nevertheless, he could certainly see the appeal as he took in his surroundings - couples huddled together sharing scarves, children on sugar-highs dragging their parents from one attraction to the next, carolers gently swaying in time to hymns and traditional songs. Harmonious was the best word that came to mind.

"Hey," came a familiar voice to snap Thor out of his observant musings. As he turned to face it, he was caught dumbstruck.

The soft yellow of the streetlights in the distance framed Bucky's head like a halo, his hair neatly slicked back and resting in loose waves over his shoulders. His nose and cheeks were tinted a gentle pink, rosy and warm as condensation left his mouth in small puffs to swirl away into the crisp air. The cowl neck of the blue jumper under the White Wolf's leather jacket cradled his chin and jaw like a pair of loving mother's hands, bunched up with the shy hunch of his shoulders.

"Hi," Thor breathed, too wrapped up in how utterly _handsome_ the brunet looked despite being so dressed down and casual to stifle the catch in his voice.

"Were you waiting long?" intoned Bucky, noting the frost built up on the toes of the other man's boots characterised by scuffing around in the slush.

Smiling warmly, Thor shook his head. "Not at all."

"Cool… I, uhh- I like the sweater, by the way. You look good."

"As do you."

"Thanks," Bucky chuckled, hands stuffed in his pockets with his head tipped down to keep the emerging smile on his face discreet. It set the god's heart alight.

"Will we head in?" the blond suggested, extending a gloved hand towards the nearby ticket booth at the park's entrance. Nodding enthusiastically, Bucky joined at his side and the two paid in.

* * *

It didn't come as any surprise that Thor would be good at most of the fair style games, but that didn't make it any less enjoyable to witness him trying them all for the first time. The ring toss took a bit of work and he didn't quite have the steady hand for hook-a-duck, but seeing the determination in his mismatched eyes as he threw darts at tiny pinned up balloons that exploded with a puff of glitter when burst had Bucky grinning like nobody's business.

The soldier himself was more apt at the gun games. The mini rifle range proved most fruitful, him shooting all six of the quick moving targets in deathly efficient succession before cockily reloading the gun, not a swest broken. An attempt wasn't necessary on his companion's part - they walked away with all of the winning tokens the game operator had to offer.

Thor's competitive streak really shone through at a booth with little metal horses powered by smacking a button over and over up a miniature racetrack. Shouts of "Come on!" and "Faster, tiny creature!" ripped through the air as he pounded away at the game with a clenched fist. His horse powered up the track at the last leg of the race, a loud bell ringing out to signal the god's victory and having him instantly on his feet. The fist pumps and rowdy cries about glory spooked several nearby children, one of which being reduced to tears. As he toppled off the stool he had perched himself on while they played, Bucky bypassed laughing completely to dissolve into a fit of snorts and wheezes. The warning glare from a nearby security guard prompted the soldier to steer Thor away as swiftly as possible, still clutching his side in an attempt to regain his breath as the blond continued on about his various "Suck it"s and "In your face"s to literal toddlers.

Needing a release for their mutual giddiness, they ventured around to scope out some of the rides. Thor fared well on the spinning cups and the smaller rollercoasters, quite liking the feeling of being flung about on a trial larger one, and so they upgraded to a ride with a long line of chairs that swung around in circles and turned upside.

It was on a sudden swivel in midair that Bucky yelped, instinctively grabbing at Thor's hand. The initial shock of being fully inverted was completely overruled as the god turned to find his friend letting out an unhinged howl of laughter, their fingers interlocked tightly. The crinkle at the corners of Bucky's wrenched shut eyes, the dishevelled flailing of chestnut brown locks and the deep smile lines carving into his cheeks were all unlike anything else the God of Thunder had bore witness to before.

If there was one thing he wished to be the last sight he saw before he died; by Odin, did Thor wish it was that again.

* * *

Not at risk of hurling their guts up with the adrenaline of half a dozen more rides worn off, the pair indulged in some mulled wine and festive snacks.

Thor liked the gingerbread men and spiced apples best, recalling similar recipes his mother had taught him in his youth. The fond smile that played on the god's lips as he mused nostalgically had Bucky enchanted, his stomach turning but not unpleasantly. The term _butterflies_ would do the sensation more justice, though terribly cliché in the White Wolf's own mind.

"What's this big one here?" Thor asked suddenly, pointing out above Bucky's head. The soldier quirked an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder and raising his eyeline to follow down the length of the other man's finger.

"That's a ferris wheel," he explained, turning around fully and backing into Thor's space to share the view better. "It has compartments two to four people get into and it brings you up in the air then around back down. Do you see?"

The god hummed, craning his neck down as Bucky pointed out aforementioned compartments. "But it goes so slow. What is the purpose of it?"

Bucky looked up at the blond then, meeting his confused gaze with an inspired smirk. Taking both of their now wineless cups, the White Wolf lingered in the warmth of standing so close to the other man before padding away to a nearby trash can to dispose of them.

"C'mon," he called out, inclining his head towards the big wheel for Thor to follow him.

* * *

Having waited in line and paid the ride operator, Bucky guided Thor into one of the smaller carriages. "We'll be able to see most of the city once we get to the top," he explained, pulling the barred door closed once the Asgardian was safely inside. Despite there being two benches on either side, Thor plonked himself down next to the White Wolf, their knees resting lightly together.

"You seem to know your way around quite well," the blond pointed out as the wheel started to turn in slow increments, pausing to let more passengers on board.

"Yeah, it… hasn't really changed much since I was here last."

"Was that long ago?"

"I used to come every year when I was a kid." A breath of a laugh left the soldier, but the sound wasn't joyous. "With Steve."

"You… haven't spoken to one another lately, have you?"

Bucky shook his head, looking out towards the cityscape. "Last time I saw him was that day at the Starks' place. We haven't spoken since the funeral."

"I'm sorry," whispered the god, setting his hand atop his friend's knee carefully.

"It is what it is," Bucky shrugged, surprised with himself at the ease he felt pouring into him from Thor's touch. After all that had happened in the recent months, opening up to the man beside him didn't feel quite as… scary as it did with others. A small part of him admittedly craved it. "He hasn't reached out again. Neither have I."

"Do you want to?"

"No. I'd know where to find him if I did. But… not yet."

"You aren't obligated to do anything you aren't ready for." The only thing Thor wanted the soldier to feel in that moment was reassured, his thumb tracing little circles into the muscle beneath.

Bucky looked at him then, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the sadness lurking behind his eyes. Placing his hand over the blond's, he murmured a soft "Thank you."

By the time they reached the top, the sky was a rich royal blue speckled with glittery stars. The tops of tall buildings all around were aglow from the street lamps and twinkly fairy lights lining windows as far as the eye could see. All of the people hustling about to get the last of their Christmas shopping done were little ants on the pavement from so high up, their world and Thor and Bucky's just as well being completely separate.

"By the Allfather," Thor whistled, leaning further over into Bucky's space to get a better look. Shoulder to shoulder, the White Wolf pointed out all the places he remembered getting up to trouble. The overpowering stain of Steve on the memories Bucky had been working so hard to piece back together was dark and pungent, making his chest ache to be touching on them all again. But the warm listening hum of Thor next to him encouraged him to continue, reminding him that the ache was temporary and he could stop talking whenever he felt overwhelmed - it was safe.

* * *

"That was fun," Thor announced as he climbed out of the compartment, offering an arm to help his friend out after.

The soldier gave a genuine smile, letting his hand linger at the crook of the other man's arm. "I'm glad."

"Is there anything else you wish to do?"

"Uhm… not that I can think of," Bucky pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking around as they walked back into the crowds of people and stalls. He gave an inspired noise before patting his back pocket, eliciting a coin-like jangle. "Do you still have your tokens?"

"Oh, yes," the god affirmed, reaching inside his jacket to produce a sizable bag of them. "Do you want them?"

Bucky shook his head, smirking. "Don't need them, I have twice as many. We can go get prizes with them, though."

"I saw such a stall a few moments ago, will we go to it?"

"You go, there's a different one at the other end," there was a mischievous glint in the White Wolf's eye that Thor had lived long enough with Loki to recognise anywhere. "Meet me outside in fifteen minutes."

Thor gave him a playfully suspicious look, but ultimately humoured him, patting his shoulder in momentary farewell.

Trekking to the stall by his lonesome, the God of Thunder took his time pondering the many rows of prizes and their quoted token value. The majority of them were toys designed with young children in mind - soft animals and light up weapons and clunky plastic accessories. Something that caught Thor's eye however was a plush toy, about a foot tall, of a wolf. It was a cute little thing with dense fur and big shiny marbles for eyes, a piercing grey-blue that was already ingrained into the blond's brain.

He had just enough tokens, and so handed them over with more enthusiasm than the teenager serving the stall was probably expecting. Thor couldn't help it - he had an idea.

* * *

Bucky was outside waiting by the time Thor caught up, hands in his pockets with a large plastic bag at his feet. He was staring into space in the direction of the docks, rocking up and down on his heels absently.

"That didn't take you very long at all," the god joked, snapping Bucky out of his daydreaming to reveal an excited crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

"Knew what I wanted," he shrugged, facing Thor squarely and inclining his head to the bump under the lapel of the god's jacket. "Did you find something you like?"

The blond swallowed lightly, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. "Well, actually… I didn't get something for myself."

"Oh?"

"This… this is for you," Thor admitted, opening his jacket to produce the stuffed wolf, holding it tentatively out for Bucky. "If you want it."

The look of surprise on the soldier's face was almost comical, his eyes flicking between the toy and Thor in disbelief. "That's… pretty crazy, given that I got my thing for you as well."

"... come again?"

"Yeah," Bucky laughed, reaching into the plastic bag to pull out a teddy bear, about double the width and height of the wolf and with a checked dickie bow around its neck. "I thought you'd like him."

The two men stared at each other, trying their level best to contain themselves before ultimately snickering at each other incredulously. They exchanged soft animals, feeling quite like children in their giddy like minded exchange. Bucky turned the wolf this way and that in his hands, admiring its ears and fluffy tail with an enamoured grin. Equally, the bear just about fit comfortably under Thor's arm, a pleasant amount of squashiness to it as its big brown eyes shone in the light.

A disappointed sigh left Bucky then, drawing on Thor's attention. "I should probably leave. Don't wanna leave Sam hanging around in the cold waiting for me."

"Ahh, I see," the god nodded his understanding. Bear secure in his armpit, Thor clasped the other man firmly by the shoulder, looking him in the eyes with a sincere smile. "Thank you, Bucky. For coming to see me and for the gift."

"You too," chuckled the White Wolf, looking like he was considering something. After a long moment, he stepped into Thor's space and threw his arms around his neck for a tight hug. Lips near the blond's ear, Bucky hummed a grateful "I had a great time tonight… thank you."

Thor would be lying to try and pass off his shock at the other man being to one to initiate such an intimate gesture of affection, but regardless, he was more than happy to reciprocate it. The beat of Bucky's heart hammered against the god's sternum from where their chests were conjoined, strong and fast. Thor couldn't fight the wide grin that threatened to spread across his face at the knowledge of his friend being flustered to such a level, pressing the lower half of his face into Bucky's hair in hopes of him not noticing.

It felt equal parts new and unfamiliar to completely natural, having the brunet wrapped up in his arms like so.

The hesitation in both of them to let go warmed Bucky's heart in the most delightful way. He had been so anxious about crossing the touch barrier with Thor and about opening up to him, and yet one night had proved that there was nothing to be worried about at all.

With openly fond looks on both of their faces, the pair said their goodbyes before parting ways, assured that they would most certainly be doing this again.


End file.
